#and then i started to remember that all the rest

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37), cursing, suggestive language, use of nicknames like “doll” and “kitten”, use of y/n, use of “good girl”, NSFW, MDNI, Sukuna is his own warning.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him. Chaos ensues.

An: I love how I started out on Tumblr as a Gojo girlie, but I quickly became a Toji girlie. However, I write the most fics about Sukuna. He’s just so interesting. I want to eat him.

Part one. | Part two.

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

Nothing could ruin the rest of your night, nothing.

Not when you were counting up the money you made from tonight alone, and it was enough to keep you steady for over three months. You might not even have to work this job for long. Student loans be damned.

You were sat at the bar after closing. Your phone screen dimly illuminated that it was well past four in the morning, and your battery was running low.

The club was much less intimidating now. The music was dulled down to a low hum. The lights were on, exposing the club for what it actually looked like. Janitorial services were walking around while disinfecting every surface imaginable.

Honestly, the stranger’s words that he would be back had long left your mind. At first, you were nervous. You kept looking to the door, expecting for him to be there. You were jumpier too, and you started looking at your customers wearier.

Then, you realized it was probably a hollow threat. He had clearly had business with the Gojo clan, and he may not even make it out alive from that.

Yorozu was wiping down the bar and cleaning up. Since your customers were the last to leave, you were tasked with staying behind with her so you two could leave together. The club liked to use a buddy system for all of the girls. Of course, security personnel members were still posted at each and every corner.

“Sheeesh girl, you must have a natural talent for this,” Yorozu whistled as she watched you count through the massive pile or money before you. Most of it came from that stranger’s pocket.

“It must’ve been a hidden talent,” you meekly murmured with a small shrug, but you couldn’t bite back the small smile on your face. You felt elated, even if your feet were throbbing from the ridiculous heels you were wearing.

Yorozu grinned at you with a small laugh. She honestly found your calm and demure appearance to be charming, especially in this industry. “So humble,” she giggled. “Listen, some of the girls invest some of their money right back into the product to make sure they keep up with demand, but I don’t even think you need any of that.”

“The product? They invest in Malevolent Mass?”

“Girl no. They get work done. You know, a boob job here, tummy tuck there, a Brazilian butt lift if they’re brave enough. Remember, the product is your looks as well as the booze.”

“Oh… I don’t know,” you said sheepishly. The thought of walking around a courtroom with a BBL when you’re a lawyer didn’t necessarily strike you as professional, but to each their own.

“No, no, no, I get it. Like I said, I think you’re doing a good job with what you got. I’m trying to compliment you, silly.”

“Oh,” you exhale with a nervous laugh. You ease into the barstool, trying to remind your fight or flight instincts that Yorozu has been nothing but kind to you. You should relax around her. “Uh— I think you’re pretty too by the way.”

The bartender grins at you while she flips her high ponytail over her shoulder with a small wink. “Aww, thanks. I feel like I have the looks, but I don’t have the personality for a bottle girl. That’s why they stuck me back here.”

“Why is that?” you inquire, leaning your elbow on the bar as you prop your head up with your hand. Yorozu is working on cleaning off all the taps and nozzles.

“Because the first motherfucker to try and grab me is getting a bottle smashed across his head.”

You involuntarily laugh from the sudden bluntness of her words. Immediately, you imagine trying to defend her in court as her attorney, immediately taking a self-defense plea.

Before you can reply, tires screeching and motorcycles revving outside has you looking towards the door. Surely, it’s a couple of drunk people not realizing that the club is closed.

Then, the door swings open, and you can hear a few deep laughs echoing through the building. Security will deal with them, right?

You look up to Yorozu, wondering if she’ll end up telling them off instead, but you catch her fixing up her hair and pulling down her shirt a little bit further to expose her cleavage that was in fact — very pleasing to look at.

Feeling confused, you finally look over to who had entered the club, and your heart drops into your stomach. Instantly, your skin feels like TV static, and you have the instinct to run.

The handsome pink-haired stranger was walking towards the bar with a smirk planted on his face. His white button-up had been stained with a red splatter that you could only assume to be blood.

“Lord Sukuna,” Yorozu greets with a pretty smile.

Sukuna. You’ve heard that name before. Who was this man?

“Yorozu,” his gravely voice greets back. “Get my men a round, will ya? They deserve it.”

“Hell yeah! Drinks are on the boss tonight!”

“Boss! What about us, huh?” A security guard calls from his post on the second floor.

“The security men too, Yorozu.” He adds before he casually slides onto a barstool right next to you.

Surely, they’re just calling him boss out of terms of endearment.. You already met the manager, and this wasn’t him. Maybe he’s a friend of the owner..? Maybe…

“Good girl. You waited on me,” his voice lowly praises you as his eyes focus on your face. He finds your confusion and fear to be absolutely decadent. He’s going to savor this moment for as long as possible.

“I—“ your words get lodged in your throat as you don’t even know what to say right now. You have so many questions, but Sukuna’s men and security personnel are crowding around the bar. Everyone is too close, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself.

Yorozu planted a drink in front of every man including Sukuna, and she made one for herself. “What are we saying cheers to tonight?” she asked casually as she looked around the room.

“To the Gojo clan for being made up of a bunch of dimwits,” a man with short black hair called out, and he toasted his shot glass in the air. The rest of the men agreed, even Sukuna raised his shot glass before he tossed back his head, and the amber liquid slid down his throat.

Your eyes were zeroed in on the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and you traveled your gaze over to his hand, remembering the way his fingers tested your throat out while you cried on his lap. You felt a dull heat settle between your thighs, so you clenched them together to soothe the ache.

“You said you didn’t drink,” you whispered sheepishly to Sukuna while the men hooped and hollered in the bar, bragging about the easy hits they got off on the Gojo men.

“Oh doll,” Sukuna cooed as he looked over to you. He gave you a mock pity glance. “I lied.”

“Just like you lied about being the owner?” you questioned as you went to stand from your barstool. You didn’t need this. You made enough money in one night for three months. You could find another job before then. The last thing you needed was to get mixed up in a crowd like this.

A strong hand settled on your thigh, gripping it as he applied a little pressure to keep you sat. Sukuna cocked an eyebrow at your boldness. To think you could just walk away from him so easily…

“Did I ever specifically say that I wasn’t the owner?” he asked as he sat his shot glass down on the bar.

“Another round?” Yorozu spoke up. This was the most chipper you have seen her ever.

Sukuna merely waved his hand out her with an indifference that even made you want to flinch. However, she took it in stride and made everyone else another round, skipping you and Sukuna.

You still feel her eyes dig into your face as it’s obvious you and Sukuna are engaged in a pretty serious conversation.

“No, you didn’t, but I feel like that’s just lying by omission,” you say as your eyebrows furrow slightly. You can feel your stomach twisting in knots. A swirl of emotions settle in your body: shame, fear, and inexplicable arousal.

“Oh y/n, are you really the one to talk about liars hm?”

Your name on his lips fellt like a sucker punch to the gut… and the clit. You never gave him your name, only opting for your codename, but he knew who you were. It was only a matter of time before he knew what school you went to, what you were majoring in, everything…

You’re already in too deep.

Suddenly, everyone feels to close. Your clothes are itchy, and your hair is sitting on you in the wrong way. Everyone’s too loud, and the buzzing of the lights makes you want to rip off your skin.

Your breath picks up, shifting to small pants as you try to calm yourself down. You haven’t had a panic attack in so long... why now?

“Alright, hop up. Let’s go to my office,” Sukuna says as his hand lets go of your thigh, and he gently hovers it over your lower back as he stands up from his stool.

Nothing sounds worse than going to his office, except for staying here and breaking down in front of a bunch of Yakuza members and coworkers.

Your legs wobble beneath you, but Sukuna keeps a steady hand against you, grounding you to him as he carefully guides you up stairs.

“We’re almost there. You’re okay,” he sounds like he’s trying to comfort you, but allowing him to soothe you would be like cuddling up to a venomous snake when they wrap themselves around you. He’s sizing you up, looking at you like prey.

You’d pay more attention to your surroundings if you weren’t so focused on trying not to hyperventilate. You hear a small beep before a door opens. It’s locked by a fingerprint sensor, only Sukuna could enter.

He guides you to sit down before his desk, and you hear the door shut behind you.

“Let it out,” he lowly demands as he walks over to the corner of the office. He presses a button on a fan before it blows in your general direction. You’re grateful for the cool breeze as you let out a haggard sigh.

You silently bring yourself back down to earth. You were in a sticky situation now, but you’ve done nothing wrong. Sure, Sukuna is the owner of Malevolent Mass, and sure, he had his fingers down your throat earlier, but that’s not a crime.

His large figure stands before you as he rummages through his desk for a moment. Once he finds what he’s looking for, his gaze snaps back up to you.

“You’re not letting it out,” Sukuna grumbles as he steps behind you. His large hands comb through your hair. Your eyes involuntarily close, and you hone in on your five senses to ground yourself further.

You can feel the air from the fan blowing past you, and Sukuna’s fingers are gently combing through your hair. He gathers it up into his palms. His office smells like him, of leather and bourbon with a nice manly musk as well. The fan is quiet, but you can hear the small motor buzzing as its blades are propelling around. Opening up your eyes, you recognize that his office is quite bare. It doesn’t look like he’s here all that often.

By the time you’re finally feeling better, you realize that your hair is off your shoulders, and you look up to see Sukuna standing behind you, looking down at you.

Your eyebrows furrow, and you reach behind your head to see what he did, and you feel your hair tied up in a bun, using a pen to hold it in place.

He put your hair up in a bun for you.

“Did you think I chopped it all off?” he asks, not missing a beat with his smirk. Satisfied with your calmness, he walks around his desk before taking a seat.

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you say slowly at your eyes look up to meet his. Being nervous wasn’t going to get you anywhere, you tried to remember the lessons in confidence that your law professor had given you. You straighten your back, pushing your shoulders back as you face Sukuna squarely. “So, should I call you boss too?”

He barks out a laugh from your little display. You really were nothing like anyone he’s ever met, and he’s met plenty of people from all walks of life. “Oh doll, I would much prefer if you said my name instead.”

His eyes rest upon you with an expectant gaze. He’s waiting for you to say it. He needs to hear you say his name.

“Okay… Sukuna,” you finally relent, choosing your battles wisely. “I— um,” Dammit, you’re already failing your confidence lessons. It’s something about Sukuna’s soft red eyes exploring over your face, like he’s hanging onto every word you say. “Thank you for getting me away from them and… helping me through that.”

“How precious,” Sukuna snickers as he leans back into his chair. “It’d do you well to know that everything I do is for the benefit of me, doll. Nevertheless, you’re welcome.”

“Putting my hair up in a bun benefitted you?” you press a bit, wondering just what his motives are now. Before, you assumed he was just some older rich man who was looking for a bit of play, but now… you weren’t so sure.

“I needed you calm before I sat down and spoke to you,” Sukuna answers as he watches your face carefully. He loves watching you try to piece everything together.

“Is this meeting some sort of performance review because if so, it’s rather late. I have other matters to tend to like trying to maintain some sort of proper sleeping schedule.”

“You’re rather mouthy to the man you work for, and for the man who forked up thousands of yen to you.”

A small sigh escapes you, knowing he has you under his thumb now. You should’ve never taken the money. You gave an inch, and now, he was going to take a mile.

“Oh darling, don’t look so down. I think it’s charming. It was just an observation on my part.”

You take a deep breath. You’re still at a loss for what was motivating him now. “Right… So, why am I in your office?”

“I have a proposition for you,” Sukuna says as he twirls a pen around his fingers. His digits effortlessly spin the pen in intricate circles, never losing grip or control.

“Listen— you’ve been exuberantly kind with your money, and I appreciate that, truly. But…”

“Aht, Let me finish,” he says in a lightly scolding tone. His eyes give you a disapproving look for interrupting him. “I don’t want you to work for me anymore. If anything was proven tonight, it was that you’re not cut out to be a bottle girl.”

Your jaw drops open, and your eyebrows furrow a little bit, forming a crease between them. He was firing you? How could he say that when Yorozu said you had a natural talent??

“Tch. Don’t take it as a bad thing, girl. Like I said, angels don’t last long in this industry. Consider it a favor that it’s ending with you being fired and not dead in a ditch.”

“Oh wow, thank you. How should I ever repay you?” you ask bitterly, barely holding back frustrated tears as they threatened to spill from your eyes. Your fists clenched at the hem of your dress. It’s just one setback after another.

“If you must, you can crawl under this desk and show me just how grateful you are,” Sukuna replies as he leans forward on the desk with a small smirk.

The audacity of this man makes you see red. He never misses a beat with his responses, and he’s fucking unshakable.

“So your proposal was for me to blow you for firing me-?” you ask incredulously.

“Oh doll, that would really be a treat, but no. I’m wanting something that can’t be obtained in just one night.”

“Please—“ you say before you pinch the bridge of your nose. You take a deep breath. Emotions don’t belong in negotiation, and that’s exactly what this is. “Can you be a little less cryptic? It’s been a long night, and to top it all off, I just got fired from the only job I’ve had.”

Sukuna’s quiet for a moment. His eyes roam over you before it looks like he finally takes pity on you. “Alright, I don’t want you working for me at Malevolent Mass. I think your set of skills would best be allocated elsewhere. Instead, I wanted to offer you a proposition.

“It’s clear that you’re money motivated, and before you throw some sort of tantrum, I’m not saying that as a bad thing. It’s just a fact. I want to support you through school, and in return, I just need you to be available to me.”

You stare for a long minute. Available to him. You could only guess what he meant by that. “You want a sugar baby,” you say slowly, narrowing your gaze at him.

The thought of letting him do more with his fingers than train your throat crosses your mind. You have to cross your legs to soothe the small thrumming feeling you feel deep in your core.

“Mmm, not quite. I’m not offering to buy you cute little outfits and fund your next beach trip. I’m offering to put you through school. Any expenses that relate to your schooling and/or living situation, I’ll handle. Actually, scratch that. I will buy you cute little outfits if they're for my eyes only,” Sukuna leans back in his chair, and his eyes stay glued onto your face.

“I can only assume that available to you means free use,” you scoff, rubbing your face in a stressed out gesture. You just made more money than you have ever seen, got fired, and propositioned to be a free use not-sugar baby all in one night.

“Smart girl,” he replies with a slight predatory grin.

You take a moment to wrack your brain for every little detail you’ve learned in your law classes so far. This deal seems like it benefits you, until he just gets tired or supporting you or until you don’t feel like doing a sexual favor for him.

He could also invoke his free use policy at any given time, demanding that you miss class or wake up in the dead of night.

There was also another problem.

“Free use of every inch of my body?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow at him.

Sukuna lets out another deep growly chuckle as he tips his head back. “This is what I get for trying to bargain with a future lawyer.”

Your eyes widen as you stare at the man across from you. “You know what I’m in school for?” you ask as your heart starts to thump harshly in your chest. You haven't mentioned that small detail to anyone at Malevolent Mass with the hopes that you could keep your work life and university life separate.

“Oh y/n, I know a lot more about you than you think, kitten. I don’t just hire anyone at Malevolent Mass, and I don’t just extend offers to just anyone either.”

You glance back towards the door, wondering if you could just run from this, but horror strikes you as you realize there’s a fingerprint sensor on this side too. The only person who could leave freely was Sukuna.

“Don’t look so petrified, doll, It was really a simple background check. I have to make sure those nasty dogs from the Gojo clan don’t try and weasel their way into my space.”

You look back to face him, trying to convince yourself that he was telling the truth. It was just a protocol procedure…

“You never answered my question. Will my entire body be free use to you?” you say, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

Sukuna rests his elbows on the desk, and he gives you an almost bored expression now. “Yes. I’m not putting you through school just to experience only half of the fun, girl.”

“No thank you. I’ll pass.”

He looks interested now, peaking up at you with a small smirk. “What bothers you about that, doll? Is it the ass play? I’d be willing to give that up. Never been much of an ass guy anyway.”

“I wasn’t—“ your eyes widen as you realize you’d be giving up your whole body to whatever kinks he had in store. You hadn’t even thought about anything past vanilla sex. “No, that’s not why. I just— no deal.”

“I hear you, but tell me what’s spooking you off from taking my deal.”

“I made a promise to someone really close to me,” you don’t dare to mention your dad, not wanting Sukuna to pry anymore into your personal life than he already did. “I’m not willing to give myself up before marriage, especially not to some sort of free use deal.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He shifts in his seat as his lips twitch upwards. Things just got much more interesting for him. “Ohhh, I see. You’re a cute little virgin, huh? I should’ve known based on how you cried from merely sitting in my lap.”

You swallow thickly, feeling your fight or flight instinct kick back in. He was acting as if you told him some sort of heirloom secret in your family. Your head slowly nods, not trusting your voice to speak.

“Hm. Alright, fine. Get out of my club, girl. And don’t let me see you here as a guest either unless you want me to bend you over my lap and discipline you myself.”

“I want to propose a counter offer.”

“Huh-?” Sukuna is rarely ever caught off guard. He prides himself on knowing everyone’s next moves, probably before they even know their next move. However, he did not foresee you, a meek little thing, giving him a counter offer.

“Are you not willing to hear me out? I’ll gladly leave with the money I made tonight,” you say, calling his bluff on kicking you out.

He quickly fixes his face from a look of surprise to another confident smirk. “Go on, doll. Show me what you got.”

“No free use. You support me through school financially including my livelihood and beyond that,” You purposely leave out the part where you don’t necessarily have a livelihood, but he’ll find that out sooner or later. “We get married, and then, you can have me as free use with the only stipulation that it can’t interfere with my school or work.”

Sukuna silently reaches over, and he clicks off the fan that was blowing on you earlier during your panic attack. A heavy silence fills the room, and his eyes bore into you.

“Are you looking to become the sole beneficiary of my life insurance policy, hm?” he finally breaks the silence, and a feline grin almost spreads across his face. He’s mocking you.

“No, you keep your life insurance policy to whoever it is. I’ll even sign a prenup stating that I’m not entitled to anything of yours in the event that we get divorced due to infidelity or any nefarious acts on my end,” you explain as your fingers subconsciously twiddle together.

Sukuna's silent for another moment as he weighs everything out in his head. You look down towards your hands, wondering if you just made some grave error in trying to negotiate. You should've just taken the money he gave you and ran.

“I take great pride in understanding human motives, doll. You’ve been one of the few to truly stump me. Tell me, why would you want to marry me? Because I know good and well it’s not to fulfill some promise to someone important to you. If it was about that, you’d understand that this… certain somebody would want you to marry for love, not for a contractual agreement.”

You licked your lips to wet them as you took what Sukuna said into consideration. You suppose he’s right. Your father didn’t want you to marry for some sort of mutually beneficial contract. Perhaps, your late father wanted you to marry so that you couldn’t be so easily abandoned again like your mother had abandoned you.

“Maybe you don’t understand because you’re on the inside,” you say slowly, keeping your eyes trained onto the floor. You felt your face warm with the unfamiliar feeling of vulnerability. Tears bit into your eyes.

“On the inside of what?” his question was more like a demand.

“Despite being born in this country, I am still on the outside. I don’t have a last name that anyone takes seriously. If I want to make change, people have to look at me with reverence and respect. Even being an outsider who doesn’t understand all the great family names of this land, your last name made me take heed. Your name demanded respect, and I want that same respect in turn for myself.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen but a fraction as his pupils dilate while looking at you. From the moment he knew your name and saw your pretty face, he knew you’d be interesting, but this? This took the cake for him.

“I need an heir for my… empire. If you’re married to me, I’ll expect at least one, though you should expect that I’ll keep your hands and stomach full with wifely duties,” Sukuna said, testing to see how you’d react.

“I want my degree first,” you expertly counteroffer, looking back up at him in the eyes. You were really agreeing to marry this man and have his children, but you have no earthly idea what his ‘empire’ truly was.

“Done. What else would you like, doll?” Sukuna easily agrees. His body leans forward into the desk. You’re so fucking tantalizing to him, and you don’t even know it. His heart is beating wildly in his chest. This is the same high he chases right before a well deserved kill. The only other person who has made him feel this same way without dying was Satoru Gojo, head of the Gojo clan.

“If you’re really a…” The word ‘yakuza’ dies on your lips. People didn’t throw around that word so frivolously. “If you and your business partners outside this office subscribe to that sort of kinship, I want to be as clueless about it as El Chapo’s wife. Please, give me plausible deniability.”

You could feel your moral compass shattering just from the mere bargaining of this. Just because you didn’t see something, doesn’t make it any less real. You were just turning a blind eye to Sukuna’s crimes… just like how corporations turned a blind eye to your father.

You try to remind yourself that this was for the greater good. You wanted revenge and penance for all the workers who have suffered at the hands of greedy men. You had to play to win.

This was only temporary. Once you established yourself in the field of law, you wouldn’t need Sukuna’s last name. By that time, he would likely already grow tired of you and move onto the next young pretty thing that fell onto his lap. Both of you would move onto different things.

Sukuna let out a deep, rich laugh that only men of high status could give. “Darling, I wouldn’t dream of involving you in my work, as long as you don’t involve me in yours.”

You let out a deep breath. This was really happening. What would your father say about the life you had chosen to live?

Your future husband slowly held out his hand to you. His palm was rough and calloused. The small splatter of blood on his white button-up spoke volumes to you. This was a man you didn’t want to cross.

“A deal, then?” his voice coated you in a false sense of security. Sukuna was terrifying, but in a way, he also brought you comfort.

“Before I shake your hand, I want the right to end our engagement should I change my mind. I’ll forfeit the money, and I’ll never step foot in the entertainment district. I’ll also never utter a word about anything I may have seen during our engagement.”

Sukuna kept his hand extended towards you. “The door your eyes kept glancing to has been unlocked this entire time, darling. The fingerprint sensor isn’t even active right now. You’re free to walk away from me all the way until you say I do,”

You glanced down at his hand then up to his eyes. He’s wearing a subtle smirk that tells you that he’s comfortable right now. You take his hand, and you shake on it before you could think wiser.

“Good girl. We can go over more explicit details the next time we meet,” your future husband smiles — a real genuine smile, and he stands up from his desk. His hands go to unbuttoning his shirt.

“I—“ your words get caught in your throat as Sukuna shrugs off his button-up shirt. His muscles look as though they’ve been delicately sculpted by one of the greatest artists to ever live. His tattoo, lines and circles that seem to have no other purpose, only accentuate every hill and ditch on his body. No, Sukuna’s not some sort of man — he’s a god.

“What are you doing?” your voice is about an octave too high, betraying your nervousness. You quickly stop yourself from staring, opting to cover your eyes up with your hands.

“Oh doll, don’t be shy,” he teases with a throaty laugh. He’s enjoying watching you squirm over him. “I’m for your enjoyment now, seeing as though we’re engaged.”

You hear fabric rustling, and you take the chance to peek between your fingers to see what he’s doing. He had another shirt tucked away in his desk, and he was now buttoning it up across his chest.

His old shirt was no where to be seen. He must’ve already expertly discarded it for no one to find.

You slowly stand as well, taking the hint that this conversation was coming to an end. You look for your bag before you realize that you must’ve left it at the bar when Sukuna led you up to his office during your panic attack.

“Come, doll. I’ll take you home,” Sukuna says, beckoning to you like an owner would their dog. He opens the door, proving that it really wasn’t locked.

You slowly follow behind him. “It’s fine. I can walk or take a subway,” you say slowly. The thought of Sukuna seeing where you lived, even if you were on student housing, made your skin crawl with unease.

“Oh y/n, you have so much to learn about me,” he taunts as his hand grazes the small of your back. He carefully leads you down to the club level. The bar had mostly cleared out. You noted how Yorozu had seemingly left. So much for the buddy system. “I’m not the type of man to let my future wife navigate the entertainment district at this ungodly hour without so much of a cell phone to call for help.”

“I have a cell phone—“ you quickly protest before you pick it up off the bar. It was completely dead. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. How did he even know about that..?

“I watched the screen fade to black as you were accusing me of lying. Let this be your first lesson, your trip here was the last time you’ll be free to roam the streets of the entertainment district without some sort of protection with you.”

You swallow thickly as you slowly grab your purse. Not that the money mattered, but it was still left undisturbed on the bar. Sukuna’s eyes flickered between you and the stack of yen, as if silently telling you to take it… even if you didn’t need it now.

“Consider it a down payment,” Sukuna laughs as he grabs a helmet off the bar. Your eyes widen as you remember that he didn’t drive a car here.

Your future husband doesn’t take a moment for pause as he walked towards the doors. He holds it open for you, expecting you to follow him.

What other choice did you have? You also didn’t necessarily fancy walking home without a phone to call for help if you needed it.

He turns to face you before reaching around and pulling the pen he had meticulously placed in your hair to hold it up. Your hair fell down, and he stepped closer to you. “Have you ever ridden before?”

You slowly shake your head. You’ve never even been close to a motorcycle before, and Sukuna’s bike looks intimidating.

“Mm, I should’ve guessed by the fear in your eyes,” he laughs lowly before slowly slipping the helmet over your head. You’re rendered blind for a moment as it takes him a second to adjust the helmet to your head. His fingers delicately adjust the straps beneath your chin, making sure you’re properly secured in.

“If I would’ve known I’d have my future wife with me, I would’ve opted for the car instead of my bike. You’re lucky I’m a good driver, doll.”

Your hands go to raise your visor up so you can look him in the eyes instead of a tinted plastic meant to protect your eyes. However, Sukuna slaps the visor back down with a hearty chuckle. “Keep it down, kitten. Don’t you want to be able to see while you walk down the aisle?”

His strong hands then wrap around your waist, and he lifts you effortlessly as though you weigh nothing to him. You barely make it through a gasp before he safely settles you onto the back of his bike.

“Put your feet on the pegs,” he instructs as he carefully swings his own leg over the bike. “When we’re riding, you hold onto me, and lean with the bike not against it.”

“What does that even mean?” you shout, feeling like your heart is going to have palpitations after this ride.

“It means…” he reaches behind himself to grab your hands, and he makes you wrap your arms around his waist. He places your palms on his rock solid stomach. “Hold onto me and trust me, doll.”

You’re forced to lean into him, practically laying yourself against his muscular back. His warmth seeps into you as you hold onto him tightly. The bike roars to life.

“You ready for the ride of your life, doll?”

The beautiful neon lights of bright purples, lime greens, and cyan blues zip past you as Sukuna revs the bike. The engine purrs and whines as he drives the bike with a confidence that comes with riding for several years.

The entertainment district is at its prettiest during this hour. Not many people are out and about, but it’s still dark and the streetlights illuminate the space. It feels like it’s straight out of a dystopian science fiction movie.

The ride is mostly silent. You’re focused on the feeling of the wind in your hair and the sights that Japan has to offer. You stay wrapped around Sukuna, using his body as an anchor while it feels like you might blow away.

It gives you time to think and reflect. You’ve done more new things in the last 24 hours than you have all your life. It feels… freeing, a sort of freedom that you haven’t felt since your father was injured at his job.

A sudden thought occurs to you. You never told Sukuna which student housing you live in… Sure, he could infer that you live on student housing, but there’s still multiple housing facilities that you could live in.

Much to your dismay, he pulls up to the exact right building, and he slowly kills the engine. “How was that?” he asks as he turns over his shoulder to look at you.

Your fingers quickly fumble with the strap of your helmet, trying to peel the safety gear off of you.

Sukuna laughs quietly as he watches you struggle. He pushed himself up off the bike, so he could tend to you better. “Careful, doll. Don’t overwork yourself. I’m sure the ride wasn’t that bad.”

Once the helmet was off, you stare up at him with a heat of a thousand suns. “How do you know where I live?” you demand as your eyebrows furrow. Your lips curl into that adorable pout that makes Sukuna involuntarily grin at you.

“I already told you, doll. I don’t just let anyone work at Malevolent Mass, and I certainly don’t just offer marriage to someone I hardly know,” he says it as if it’s the most natural thing on this planet.

You’re completely speechless for a moment, reeling over just how much he knows about you. He made the deal with you knowing what he was getting himself into; however, you basically just signed yourself up for a blind sentence.

“As much as I crave the fear you’re wearing on your face, it’s late. You have class on Monday, which means you need to fix your sleeping schedule tonight. Go inside, get some rest, and make sure to charge your phone. I’ll be in touch.” You don’t even bother asking how he knows your phone number.

He reaches out to you, bracing a hand behind your head as his fingers intertwine strands of hair. He then bends over and presses his lips gently against your forehead.

A warmth blossoms over you. A simple forehead kiss was not what you were expecting from the man who fucked your mouth with his fingers and propositioned you for a free use bargain. It felt simple, sweet, innocent…

It’s almost enough to make all the anxiety lift from your shoulders, but you still yourself, reminding yourself not to fall for such frivolous tricks and pretty words… even if it was really thoughtful that he had already thought about your schooling.

“I’ll draft up a contract before our next meeting, doll.” He slides the helmet over his own head, and he pushes the visor upwards so you can gaze into his red eyes that appear soft at the moment.

Coming to your senses, you give him a weary gaze. “Written contracts only ever benefit the writer of the contract.”

You can’t see his lips, but you can tell from his eyes that he’s smirking at you like he’s proud of you for picking up on such a minor detail. “I have such a clever little wife.”

With that, his bike roars to life, and he points towards the door of your building. His intention is clear enough. You’re now to do as your future husband says.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @lizatonix @starmapz @everywonuu @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @depressiondiaries @t4naiis @hishearttohave @soraya-daydreams @lulunx @s-1-xx @el-lise @prettyngeto @marifujioka @iheartlinds @gina239 @actuallynarii @shxyxyxxxx @krispycreamepie @emoedgylord

[okwonyo]

DON’T MAKE NO SENSE ⸝⸝ 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗂’𝗆 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

🍵 best friends and a little bit more

❪ 𝖶𝖧𝒾𝖲𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖲 ❫ ｡ enhypen pining over fem ! rea ⠀──⠀ fluff bsf2l ◜◡◝ mention of alcohol skinship kissing

REBLOG FOR A SMOOCH

분지 ܃ not everyone’s is as hot at jake’s .. >//<

HEESEUNG

before meeting any of you properly, people are already sure that you are taken. of course, they assume that you are each other’s lover without having to check twice. for the sole reason that they often get a sight of the two of you together at parties— where he acts like your boyfriend.

there is a very simple explanation to that ; guys hit on you a lot and he doesn’t like to witness this at all. so he decided, on his own, that he would be your fake boyfriend in order to protect your from any other men that thought of talking to you. you don’t complain, he is a very good boyfriend plus boys do tend to bother you too much.

for instance, tonight a random man is talking to you and won’t get the hint. therefore, your knight in shining armor steps in. he takes off his jacket as he walks towards you then puts it on your shoulders. he rests his hands on your waist after, pulling you closer, and under the stranger’s widened eyes, he leans down to your ear, kisses your cheek, “is he bothering you, sweet angel?”

JAY

you met him in kindergarten, when you were both two apples tall and half. as long as you remember, he has always been by your side. he has always been the one to jump in when you fell on the ground and started crying in the sandbox. he has been the one to defend you against mean middle schoolers. he was always the one guiding you through the crowded high school halls.

your best friend has always been protective of you. since the beginning of your friendship, he has felt as if he needed to take care of you— to make his own heart feel at ease. his habits has only grown more and more intimate as the time passed by. he cooks lunch and dinner for you because he knows that sometimes you forget, he drives you anywhere you need like your personally chauffeur, he pays for most of your stuffs.

he is really beyond happy to do the most ridiculous things for you, as long as he can take care of you. “i can do it on my own—” you start as he starts kneeling down. he cuts you immediately, taking your shoelaces between his fingers, “i know, but let me take care of you.”

JAKE

it originally started as a drunken game, a silly thing that would never happen again. the first time it happened was a party, under the heavy influence of alcohol, your friends decided to make you all play seven minutes in heaven. and of course, due to the sadistic universe, the bottle had to point to your best friend when it was your turn to spin it. it is not a secret that you made out for the entirety of the given time in that closet.

you both agreed to never do it again, that it was just for the fun of the game. but the feeling of his tongue in your mouth didn’t leave your head for weeks and he couldn’t stop biting his lower lip— in hope that it would feel the same as when you sucked his lower lip that night. it was obvious, at the way your eyes would dart to each other’s lips that you wanted to kiss again.

he lets his desire win after a month, and he thinks he deserves a prize for waiting that long. he kisses you during what is supposed to be a study session and you let him do it, you kiss him back with as much passion. “fuck,” his sighs into your mouth. “i missed you so much.”

SUNGHOON

as everyone else in the world, he feels attacked whenever anyone that isn’t him goes over his phone— or even when they do something as simple as peeking over his shoulder while he is on it. although he has absolutely nothing to hide, no one is allowed to touch his phone.

though, when he is asked about it, he can’t really explain why you can do it. it’s just different, okay? everything related to you is slightly different than when it’s related to others. “gimme your phone,” you don’t ask, but order and he obeys. he gives you his phone without hesitation, without asking you why.

has it gone as far as your face is saved in his face id, perhaps, but there is nothing wrong about that. he is too busy staring at your face to notice that you are going into instagram, down to his private messages. at the grin you make when you see a message from a girl he denied to like multiple times, he speaks, “i’ll block her.”

SUNOO

sometimes, he really does tell himself that you are very lucky that he likes you a lot. because there are some things that you make him do that are almost inhumane, that feels likely pure torture in a sense. but, he accepts to carry all your stuffs.

at this point, he has become your walking purse or shelf. you drag him in every shops you pass by and makes him hold the loads of clothes you bought. you make him hold your purse when you don’t want to anymore. you put your lipstick in his pocket to find it quickly.

now it’s a reflex, a natural instinct. whenever you are holding something— a drink, a paper, your phone— if he notices that you are strangling a little: he holds it for you without any hesitation. you’ll end up making him do it, anyway. and loves serving you.

JUNGWON

you never knew the existence of ‘friendship anniversaries’ until he came into your life. there is no one you know that is invested in the matter, who is so eager to celebrate the beginning of your friendship and the continuation of it with so much enthusiasm.

he shows up at your door around six in the afternoon, well dressed in a suit that hugs his waist, hair perfectly styled and his cologne making you feel butterflies in your stomach, “hi, pretty girl,” he greets you with a bouquet of flowers in hands. it’s so ridiculous, so lovely that it makes you blush each time.

you walk around all the pretty places he drags you to with the flowers by your side. there is always a moment of the night where someone asks you if you date is going well— obviously assuming that you are lovers. you both share a shy look, each year.

RIKI

your best friend used to not be a huge fan of physical touch. there was a time in your friendship, during middle school mainly, where he was unable to give you a hug without feeling forced to. and even when he did give you a hug, he would barely want to touch you— making the embrace comedicaly awkward.

but ever since he passed puberty, he has grown to love physical touch more and more. he picked up your gentle way of showing affection: through hugs, through touch, but only with you. and he gets very, very annoying when he wants it, when he wants to cuddle, “come here,” he whines.

you sigh, closing your laptop and putting it on your nightstand. he beams as he observes you laying down. the tall man gets comfortable, a little bit too comfortable. he entangles his long legs with yours, wraps his arms around your body and rests his head against your chest. you sigh, “i miss your middle schooler era.”

taglist ( open )

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You sit beside Xavier on the bench in the park, watching people pass by as golden afternoon light filters through the leaves. The air smells of fresh-cut grass and distant food carts. A stylish couple walks past, the woman’s laughter musical, her confidence evident in every step.

“I wish I was pretty like her,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, your fingers absently tracing patterns on the wooden bench.

Xavier turns to you, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. His brows furrow deeply, eyes widening just a fraction.

“What... did you say?” he asks, his tone remaining even despite the clear puzzlement in his eyes. He shifts his body toward you, giving you his full attention.

“Nothing, just...” you gesture vaguely toward the retreating couple. “Sometimes I don’t feel very attractive. Especially around people like that.”

Xavier stares at you for a long moment, looking genuinely bewildered. The silence stretches between you, broken only by distant children’s laughter and birdsong.

“I don’t understand,” he finally says.

You start to explain, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his unwavering gaze, but he gently places his hand over yours, the warmth of his palm surprising against your skin.

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head slightly. “I mean I don’t understand why you would think that. It doesn’t make sense.” His thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he states matter-of-factly. “I’ve always thought so.”

Coming from Xavier, the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip.

“You don’t have to say that,” you protest weakly, looking down at where his hand covers yours.

Xavier shakes his head, leaning closer. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. I don’t...” he pauses, carefully selecting his words, “understand how you can’t see what I see.”

His fingers tighten around yours, the pressure gentle but grounding. “Every time I look at you, I...” He struggles with the words, clearly moving outside his comfort zone. A faint color touches his usually pale cheeks. “From a purely objective standpoint, the way you look—” He stops, frustrated with himself, and takes a deep breath.

“That’s not what I meant to say.” He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, there’s a rare vulnerability there. “What I mean is that you’re beautiful. In every way that matters. Your smile when you’re excited about something. The way your eyes light up when you talk about things you care about. How your whole face changes when you’re lost in thought.”

He reaches up with his free hand, hesitating just shy of touching your face. “I’ve remembered every expression you make. I’ve studied them all.” He looks away, embarrassed by his own earnestness. “You’re beautiful. Please, don’t think otherwise.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, as if relieved to have expressed something he’s held inside for too long. He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the afternoon.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

You’re helping Zayne organize his medical journals in his office as late afternoon shadows stretch across the polished floors. The pristine space feels both clinical and comforting—much like the man himself.

As you reach up to place a heavy volume on the top shelf, you catch your reflection in the large window overlooking the city. The bright lighting does you no favors.

“Ugh,” you mutter, tugging self-consciously at your clothes. “I look awful today.”

Zayne glances up from his desk where he’s been meticulously updating patient files. He sets down his pen, the soft click audible in the sudden silence. His eyes, usually so focused on his work, now study you with that penetrating gaze that seems to see beneath surfaces.

“What brought this on?” he asks, his voice filling the room.

“Nothing specific,” you say, turning away from your reflection. “Just... some days I don’t feel pretty, that’s all.”

Zayne stands. He gestures to the leather chair beside his own. “Sit.”

You comply, watching as he leans against his desk, arms folded across his chest. The setting sun through the windows casts half his face in shadow, highlighting the sharp angles of his features.

“Are you overthinking again?” he asks directly, but there’s no judgment in his tone. “Or did someone say something to you today?”

“Just overthinking, I guess,” you admit, fidgeting under his steady gaze.

He nods once, as if confirming a diagnosis. “I see.” He’s silent for a moment.

“Beauty is subjective,” he begins. “But if you’re asking for my opinion...” The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be the ghost of a smile. “You’re more than perfect. Inside and out.”

When you start to protest, he raises a hand to stop you.

“I don’t make observations lightly. You know that.” His eyes hold yours. “I’ve studied human anatomy for years. I’ve seen thousands of faces.” He leans forward slightly. “None of them affect me the way yours does.”

The admission seems to surprise even him, a rare moment of vulnerability from someone so carefully composed.

Suddenly, he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a small chocolate wrapped in gold foil. It’s from the exclusive chocolatier across town—the one he pretends not to favor.

He places it in your palm, his fingers lingering against yours longer than necessary. “Here,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Sweet for the sweet.”

Before you can respond, he leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead. The momentary closeness allows you to catch the subtle scent of his aftershave mingled with antiseptic.

“Now,” he says, straightening himself, “wait for me to finish organizing these journals so we can go home. I’m thinking of dinner at that place you like on Fifth Street.” He turns back to his desk, but not before adding, “And no more nonsense about not being pretty. I won’t have the person I care for most questioning their worth.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

You’re sitting on the private beach adjoining Rafayel’s seaside studio, watching him add final touches to a vibrant seascape painting. The ocean stretches endlessly before you, waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. The air tastes of salt and fresh breeze. Seagulls circle overhead, their calls mingling with the gentle lapping of water against sand.

Rafayel stands before his painting, completely absorbed in his work. Paint splatters decorate his rolled-up sleeves and there’s a smudge of blue across his cheekbone. The wind tousles his already disheveled hair as he captures the dance of light on water.

A group of beautiful people laugh further down the beach, their perfect silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. You glance down at yourself, then back at them, feeling suddenly out of place in this picturesque setting.

“I don’t think I’m pretty enough for this place,” you whisper, the breeze carrying your words away—or so you think.

Rafayel’s hand freezes. He turns to you slowly, paint-speckled fingers stilling on the canvas, his expression transforming from focus to complete disbelief.

“What did you just say?” His usually playful voice has an edge to it now, sharp as broken glass.

“Nothing, just thinking out loud,” you reply, regretting having spoken at all.

“No, no, no,” he sets his palette down with a clatter on the small table beside him. “You don’t get to say things like that and dismiss them as ’nothing.’” In an instant, he takes a seat on your side. “Did someone say something to you?” he demands, looking around the empty beach as if searching for culprits. “Which human do I need to have a word with?”

“No one said anything, Rafayel. It’s just how I feel sometimes,” you admit.

“That’s even worse! Your own mind betraying you like this?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “This is an emergency. A catastrophe of the highest order!”

He grabs your shoulders. “You are an absolute masterpiece. Do you understand? A masterpiece. I know art. I create art. I live and breathe beauty in all its forms. And you—” he pokes your cheek lightly, leaving a tiny dot of turquoise paint, “—are the finest creation I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

When you try to look away, embarrassed by his intensity, he gently tilts your chin back. The setting sun reflects in his eyes, turning them to liquid gold. “The ocean is jealous of your depths. The stars envy your brilliance.” His voice softens, becoming almost reverent. “And I would swim across every sea before I let you believe you’re anything less than stunning.”

He wraps his arms around you suddenly, clinging like a child. “Now don’t say such ridiculous things again. It offends my artistic sensibilities.”

He then stands, pulling you up with him. “Come on. We’re going to watch the sunset together. I’ll show you how I see you.” He places a brush in your hand, his fingers lingering. “And maybe then you’ll understand why I can’t look away.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

You stand before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows in Sylus’s penthouse suite, overlooking the sprawling N109 Zone from stories up. The city stretches below like a circuit board of neon and shadow, vehicles and people reduced to tiny moving points of light. The luxurious room behind you is bathed in the soft glow of artfully placed lamps illuminating his collection of rarities—collections plucked from across time and space.

Catching your reflection in the darkened glass, superimposed over the glittering cityscape, you murmur without thinking, “I don’t know why you keep me around. I’m not even pretty.”

The room falls silent. You hear Sylus set down whatever gem he was examining, the soft clink of crystal against metal followed by his steady steps as he approaches.

“What an odd thing to say,” he remarks, his voice silky yet sharp as a blade, “because you’re entirely incorrect.”

You turn to find him watching you, head slightly tilted.

“Did I hear you questioning your beauty?” A smirk plays on his lips, but his eyes remain serious, almost stern. “After all this time with me, you should know very well that I have exceptional taste.”

He closes the distance between you. He places his hands on your waist, positioning you both so your reflections are visible in the window. His gaze in the reflection holds nothing but admiration.

“Do you think I surround myself with anything less than perfection?” He gestures to the rare treasures adorning his collection shelf—items worth more than most people earn in a lifetime. “Do you imagine I would waste my time on someone who didn’t captivate me entirely?”

His fingers trace your jawline, feather-light. “Hundreds of rare gems, ancient artifacts, priceless paintings—I collect only the extraordinary, the unique.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “And yet, not one of these treasures compares to your presence and beauty.”

When you start to protest, he places a finger gently against your lips. “I don’t tolerate self-deprecation from the one person in this universe I genuinely cherish.”

He turns you to face him fully now, both hands cupping your face with surprising tenderness from someone so powerful, so used to taking what he wants. Your disbelief must show on your face because he chuckles softly.

“Your beauty is not up for debate, not even by you. Challenge me on anything else if you wish, demand whatever your heart desires—but on this matter, I will not yield.”

He steps back after brushing a kiss against your forehead, apparently considering the matter settled. “Now come here and tell me what you want instead of what you think you lack. That’s much more productive, don’t you agree?”

He gestures to the plush sofa. “Sit down and tell me about your day today. I haven’t heard you talking about it.” His expression softens further. “Let’s talk about that instead.”

As you join him, he casually drapes an arm around you, pulling you closer. “And tomorrow,” he murmurs against your hair, “I’ll show you exactly how beautiful you are to me. I have something special planned—something worthy of you.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

You’re absently scrolling through your phone as you accompany Caleb while he sorts through Fleet reports in his home office. The space reflects his dual nature—military precision in the organized shelves and structured workspace, but touches of warmth in the photographs and mementos from his DAA days. The soft glow of multiple screens illuminates the room as rain patters against the windows, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Caleb sits at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration as he reviews security protocols. His uniform jacket hangs on the back of his chair, sleeves of his standard-issue shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms. Despite the late hour, his posture remains perfect—the Colonel, always on duty.

Glancing up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflective surface of a dormant monitor. The unflattering blue light highlights every perceived imperfection.

“Ugh,” you mutter under your breath, running a self-conscious hand through your hair. “I look terrible today.”

Caleb’s head snaps up from his work. “What did you just say?” There’s a sudden alertness in his posture, as if responding to a threat.

“Just that I’m not looking my best,” you shrug, trying to downplay it, surprised by his intense reaction. 

Caleb stands, his chair rolling backward. His eyes narrow as he scans the room like he’s searching for enemies in a combat zone. “Who put that idea in your head?”

The protective edge in his voice takes you by surprise.

“No one, Caleb. It’s just how I feel sometimes.” You set down your phone, touched by his concern even as you try to ease it.

His expression darkens for a moment before he walks towards you. “Hey,” he says, crouching beside where you’re seated and taking your hands in his. “Look at me.”

When you meet his eyes, they’re filled with the same warmth they held when you were both kids, before the Fleet, before the incident—before everything changed.

“I’ve watched you grow more beautiful every single day since we were kids,” he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The calluses on his palms catch slightly against your skin. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I get to be with you.”

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. Rain continues to drum against the windows, creating a private world just for the two of you.

“You’ve always been the prettiest person in any room to me. Always will be. Nothing compares to coming home to you.”

His smile returns. “And trust me, I’ve had plenty of people try to catch my eye over the years. None of them even came close. It’s just not possible when my mind can only think of you.”

He presses a soft kiss onto your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. “So no more of this ‘not pretty’ talk, okay? Or I’ll have to issue an official declaration about how gorgeous you are, and that would be really embarrassing for everyone involved.”

Based on this request.

[connection-terminated-blog]

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, but I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although, you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach. But you will never find them. None of you will. This is where your story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away, as the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still, and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace, and perhaps more, waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours. And then, what became of you? I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest - for you, and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us. End communication.

[fckmebarnes]

ˏˋ ★ pretty peach ★ ˎˊ˗

dbf!biker bucky x fem!reader

18+ EIGHTEEN PLUS. — oral (bucky), bucky is a flirt, semi-established fooling around, he makes u suck him while otp w ur dad 🫣

older works re uploaded! feedback welcome <3 love dbf!bkier bucky so bad.

It was going to be a long weekend. You father was out of town for a few weeks for a work trip, and he had asked you to watch over his house while he was gone. While you didn’t want to, you were getting paid for it, so you decided to suck it up and deal with it.

The downside? He wanted his best friend to check up on you, who happened to be a biker for the small town you lived in. It wasn’t that the town you lived in was sketchy, at least not anymore.

It was pretty safe for the most part, the Howling Commando’s were always patrolling the dimly lit streets looking for trouble and to crack down on drug addicts, robberies, anything that made the town unsafe.

And it wasn’t like you were complaining for being safe by them, what you did mind though, was that your fathers best friend was Bucky Barnes. The one who you sneaked around with quite frequently when your dad was gone. No one questioned it, he was your dad's best friend, and Bucky was just making sure everyone was safe.

You can’t remember how it started, all you knew was that he took care of you, he wanted to keep you safe while fucking your brains out.

You sighed, tossing your dads keys on the table when you went inside his house, kicking your shoes off and heading to the kitchen. You needed a drink since it was going to be a long few weeks staying by yourself until Bucky decided to pop in whenever he wanted.

And boy, he sure did.

“Hey, peach. You all good here?” He opened the front door quietly, letting himself in and rubbing his hands together. The cold air blew in and nipped at your cheeks, making you pull your legs into yourself and hug your blanket tighter.

“M’ all good. Either come in or leave, it’s getting cold in here.” He chuckled, closing the door behind him and waking in fully. He sported his leather jacket with ‘The Howling Commando’s’ on the back side, a few pointed studs on each shoulder pad. You couldn’t deny that he looked hot in that jacket.

You caught yourself staring too long and looked away, blinking. He walked over, and sat next to you, sitting down on the couch and resting a hand on your knee.

“You know, I don’t have to patrol tonight. Steve is on duty.” He leaned into your side, mouth hovering near your ear lobe and pulling at it softly, earning a soft gasp from your lips. You could feel him smirking against your skin and pulling you closer, lips traveling down to your neck and nipping at it.

“Mmm..” Was all you could get out as he sucked harder, pulling away with a pop and kissing the same spot he assaulted. You knew he wasn’t going to stop, and you honestly didn’t want him to.

He grabbed your face with his hand making you look at him, eyes filling with lust and need. He grabbed your hand, holding yours and his and trailing it down to his crotch, pressing your pal against his clear erection. Your cheeks grew red as a smirk was across his lips, hovering over yours.

“See what you do?” He voice was low, as you palmed him through his jeans, making him groan out in pleasure as he caught your lips in his. He swiped his tongue across your lower lip, pulling at it gently making you submit to his tongue darting to meet yours.

Your hand worked it’s way to unbutton his jeans, pulling the zipper down and snaking it’s was under his briefs to grab his hard cock. You held it in your hand, squeezing it gently and pulling it put, pumping softly. He moaned into your mouth as you rubbed your thumb over the slit, his breathing becoming quicker and his hips thrusting up into your hand. You smeared his pre-come down his shaft and using it to pump him more easily.

“Fuck, peach. You work my cock to good.” He pressed his lips against your jawline as you picked up the pace, his hips thrusting into your hand as much as you would let him. You pulled your hand away and he stopped kissing your neck, looking at you curiously. You got off the couch and crouched between his legs, face level with his cock as it stood in the air.

“Let me pay you back for keeping the streets safe, Barnes.” His mouth fell open as you took him in your mouth, messing with the tip with your tongue slowly, twirling it around to collect the pre-cum that had spilled from the top.

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth. Such a natural.” You moaned as you had him in your mouth, the vibrations traveling through his duck and up his body making him moan out. He grabbed a fistful of your hair at your scalp, pushing your head down as much as you would let him.

Spit fell from the corners of your mouth and down his shaft. You used it to pump him with your hands as you practically gagged on him. You loved sucking him off, it was one of your many pleasures as you felt yourself growing wet at the obscene sounds he was making.

“So dirty, sucking me off in your dads living room. You love this, don’t you?” He pushed your head down further, hitting the far back of your throat and making a loud, guttural moan. He pulled at your hair as you took all of him, his hips snapping up and throat fucking you.

You felt the couch vibrate as Bucky’s phone lit up with your dads name as the caller ID. Bucky muttered a quite ‘fuck’ before picking up the phone.

“Keep my cock in your mouth, you hear peach?” You nodded as you blinked up through your eyelashes, warming his cock in your mouth as he accepted the call.

“Hey man.” You sucked softly, watching as his bit his lip when you hear the low sounds of your dad on the other end of the phone. You couldn’t understand a word he was saying and from the looks of it, Bucky couldn't either.

“She’s been so good. Nothing to worry about here.” You met the tip of his cock with your lips, sucking softly and teasing the tip once more when he grunted, bucking his hips up.

“What? No I’m good. Everything is good here.” At this point it was your mission to make him come. You took his balls in your other hand and massaged them in between your fingers softly as you bottomed out, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat and started sucking.

You felt his cock twitch in your mouth, the vein that ran up the underside of his shaft throbbed, and you knew he was close.

“I hear you man.” It didn’t seem like your dad was going to stop talking anytime soon, and you took this as pay back for all the times Bucky made you come while on the phone with your dad. You sucked as hard as your could while fondly his balls, feeling the hot cum shoot down the back of your throat. He let out a ‘shit’ as he came, blushing at the fact he was coming in his best friends daughters mouth.

“Talk later.” He hung up as quick as he could and tossed the phone on the pillow, grabbing your hand and cumming hard down your throat. You swallowed every last drop, as he continued to slowly mouth fuck you.

“Fuck, sweets. That turn you on? Swallowing my cum while I’m on the phone with your dad, huh?” You let go of his balls and sat up, making a ‘pop’ noise as you let go of his dick. You licked your lips and smirked up at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You had tears down your face, hair disheveled but felt good.

“Payback, Buck.” Those words lit something behind his eyes as he leaned over and grabbed your face with his hands, smashing his lips against yours and pulling you up to him, as you straddled his lap and felt his hard dick on the inside of your thigh.

“I’m going to fuck you all night. Think you can keep up, peach?”

[viperify]

AU | ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⁺ ⚕₊ In His Fangs.

Short Summary: Curiosity killed the cat. Yet, you don’t really believe Tom Riddle is dead. Not when rumours spread he has returned as a vampire to claim the immortality he has always sought for…

Warnings: 18+ only! NONCON. blood kink, biting, branding, choking, creampie, clit play, degradation, forced orgasm, hair pulling, impact play, overstimulation, rough sex, slight cum play

A/N: I am scared of myself.

wordcount: 2,9k

Mind the warnings before reading. If you are not comfortable, feel free to scroll. <3

Curiosity killed the cat—or so they say.

Rumours caught your attention. Rumours that Tom Riddle—believed to be dead—had sacrificed everything to gain immortality, returning as a vampire.

People didn’t believe it. Nobody did. They were rumours after all, rumours someone spread deliberately—with the intention to scare the general public.

Tom Riddle, Voldemort—he was dead. Killed by the Ministry right before he could create his third Horcrux. Students, teachers, some of his followers—they all witnessed his death.

He would never return.

Never.

Right?

You tried to believe it.

For so long, you tried to forget the conversation you overheard in the Three Broomsticks. Just a drunk old man blabbering about an attack on his livestock—unusual really. The animal wasn’t killed for its flesh. But its body was completely drained of blood. Various detection spells showed no results, diagnostics failed. Until some old, wise witch found something—a vampire’s bite, hidden under dark, dark magic.

That’s how it all started.

And it fit too—the timeline was perfect. Weeks after Tom’s supposed death. Just a mere month after, more and more animals were killed in the exact same way, the bite always hidden by dark magic so it would be insanely difficult to discover and place. But never humans—no single human died. Which, in the end, calmed the public down. Rumours steadily disappearing from people’s conversations at the bar. Just another vampire, passing by the Scottish Highlands—feeding on animals—after all, feeding on humans, let alone killing them, was strictly forbidden by the Ministry.

But you felt it. There was more behind the story. Something that made you shudder each time you only looked in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

And yet, you felt a strange pull towards it.

—

You have been restless for days. Total lunar eclipse, they say—better known as blood moon.

You can’t sleep. Can’t rest, can’t nap. The closer to a full moon, the worse it gets. To the point where you decide to go for a walk in the evening, to take your mind off things.

Originally, you didn’t intend to go into the forest, not really. But then, when you see a rare potion ingredient right at the edges of the woods—you rethink. After a brief moment of hesitation, you decide to collect it, putting it in a tote bag you have brought with you. As you look back up, you see it.

There are more, scattered around just a little further away—

Just a little deeper in the forest—

At some point, your bag is full. Potion ingredients that are so rare, if you sold your bag, you could probably afford a home for yourself.

You must have gotten really, really lucky, you think.

It’s getting darker and darker, the sun disappearing behind the horizon. You shudder when a chilly breeze brushes past you and finally decide to leave the forest.

Looking around you, you try to find the exit. This tree, that rock—you don’t exactly remember where you came from. But it couldn’t be that far.

Right?

You decide to turn around and just walk in a straight line, figuring that would be the fastest way to find the exit of the Forbidden Forest.

However, after 15 minutes of walking, you return to the same spot you left off at. There was no way you walked in a circle, but yet here you were—exactly where you started.

You try again.

Same outcome.

Your heartbeat races—you want to leave. It’s dark by now, and mindlessly wandering through the forest at night time, during a full moon, when there are possibly still vampires around—is not something you are keen on doing.

You shriek at a sudden movement, a soft crack of a branch somewhere behind you—but when you turn—there is nothing.

Then, a low growl to your left—

And your legs react faster than your brain. By the time you reach a small bush, somewhere to hide under, you are completely out of breath.

You listen intently for any strange sounds, try to control your breathing—when you see it.

A small hut, not far away.

Looking left and right, you slowly make your way towards the wooden structure, entering in one swift movement, closing the door behind you. For a moment you let yourself rest against the wall, inhaling deeply. It’s quite cold in here, the scent of mossy wood flooding your senses, the rough wood scraping against your arms. But it’s silent. Calm. Dark. And for the first time since you entered the forest—

Safety.

Or so you think.

“You came for me. I knew you would. Stupid, stupid girl.”

Your heart skips a beat, head turning in the direction of an all-too-familiar voice—

It’s too dark to make out more than a faint outline of the person next to you—besides their scarlet eyes directly burning down into yours.

His voice, his eyes, his height.

Tom Riddle. Now, a vampire.

One hand firmly wraps around your throat before you can even think about running, pushing you up against the wooden panelling. Squeezing tightly enough you can barely fucking breathe.

“Let— me go!” You rasp, the last bit of air left in your lungs wasted on words you know will do nothing to help your situation. Oh, no—not until he’s gotten what he’s wanted. What he has been after ever since he turned. Your blood. Only yours. Animals, in the meanwhile, merely acting as a substitution—he wanted you.

“Too late.” He says, fingers pressing down even harder on the side of your throat. “I have always thought you were a smart girl, but clearly I am mistaken. Falling for a trap this obvious.”

The last few words fade into a blur, your brain too deprived of oxygen to function. Just as your vision goes black at the edges, his hand leaves your throat. Without him firmly pressing you against the wall, your knees give in, having you drop to the floor, gasping for air.

He doesn’t wait for you to recover—instantly bending down, grabbing a fistful of your hair just to forcefully yank your head backwards. Forcing you to look into his eyes again.

“So the rumours are true,” you whisper, trying to back up—but his grip is too strong. “It was you all along.”

He merely grants you a nod. “It was the only way. I wanted to avenge myself—wanted to find the someone whose fault this all is.”

His expression is unreadable as he looks down at you—a brief flash behind his eyes—almost predatory.

Your breath catches in your throat. Fuck.

“Quite curious, isn’t it? The very person that found out about my plans, getting me murdered in consequence—is the one’s blood I crave most.”

And then he smirks, subtle but dangerous. The red moon, now at its highest on the pitch-black horizon, casts a shadow on his sharp features through the window.

“Tom, I didn’t—“

His palm comes down on your cheek. Hard.

“If you want to live, you should act accordingly. No more lies. You will obey my every command. And I might just let you leave afterwards.” He says, thumb softly wiping over where he struck you. “If you are a very, very good girl, that is.”

You swallow. He set up a trap, and you walked into it, thanking him even. Served yourself on a silver plate. You curse yourself for it.

Tears well up in your eyes. “I will do anything you ask. Please just don’t— kill me.”

His eyes glow at your response. Just how he’s wanted you. Pliant. Obedient. Helpless.

He’d taken in your unique scent from miles away. He’d felt the racing heartbeat in your chest—pumping your sweet, sweet blood through your body as you panicked while looking for an exit. Tom merely had to wait for sunset to get to you then.

Back at Hogwarts he secretly admired you for your intelligence—though you were never smarter than him, not even now.

“Anything, you say?” He purrs, pulling you to your feet by your hair, so you are mere inches from his face. He still looks the same as he did in school. This beautiful, dark hair, sharp jawline, perfect height. You nod, carefully.

“Strip.”

His voice is rough, demanding—not giving you any space or option to complain. You can’t say no, and you know it. You try to keep your breathing steady—however, when you feel his gaze dropping, hand coming to rest on your neck, thumb deliberately caressing along your most prominent neck vein—you can’t help but inhale sharply, followed by a shaky whimper.

“We are alone in this forest, just you and me.” He drawls, pressing down on your pulse point, brows furrowing as he feels your heightened heartbeat under his finger. You are warm. So deliciously warm, he thinks.

His hot breath ghosts over your cheek as he leans in closer—dangerously close. Uncomfortably close. “I could drain you right here. And nobody would notice.”

That’s it. Any sane thoughts are ripped from your mind, and you start sobbing.

“Shhh.” He soothes, a condescending grin decorating his face, the rough pad of his thumb wiping a freshly spilled tear from your cheek. “I am not going to hurt you. Not more than necessary.”

You nod again, wiping a tear from your face.

“Now do as I said. When you are done, bend over the table.”

With a flick of his fingers a few candles light up, illuminating your body as you undress piece by piece. All while he watches you intently, hungry eyes roaming over your bare skin.

You take a deep breath before you turn around, bending over said table in the middle of the small room, the rough edge digging into your hip bones.

The sound of his clothes dropping to the floor is the only thing that breaks the silence between the both you, and a mere minute later, he’s behind you. Cock pressing against your thigh, hard and heavy—a bead of precum leaking from the tip. But he waits, lingers there—thumb trailing along your spine—hand coming to a rest on your hip before two of his fingers push inside, working you open for him. You gasp at the feeling—hips meeting his thrusts.

Tom instantly halts inside of you, other hand smacking your ass so hard it must tingle on his own skin.

“This is supposed to be a punishment. Yet here you are, bucking your hips like a whore. Stop that.”

His words sting. But he isn’t wrong—not entirely. As messed up as the situation is, you can’t help but whimper at his touch—how he already knows every single spot that makes you whine and moan. You hate him, you really do—but Merlin— there is something about him like this that makes heat pool in your lower stomach—and as much as you want to deny it, you can’t.

And he notices, of course he does. Quickly withdrawing his fingers, turning you around and helping you up on the table, immediately pushing you down on it. His hand wraps around his cock, stroking himself before he swipes through your soaked folds once, twice, maybe three times—groaning as your arousal coats the head of his cock—and then he pushes inside. Not slowly. Not carefully. No time to adjust. No stopping—never stopping. Until he is fully hilted inside you.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream—the stretch close to unbearable—but he doesn’t grant you much time to think about it. One second later he’s already moving, hips snapping against yours—so hard it has your body moving up the table, and he has to pull you back down.

And then, with one swift movement, his head dips, breath hot against your skin before his tongue laps over your pulse point. Slowly, teasingly, until your breathing slows—and then, without further warning, his fangs sink deep into the flesh of your exposed neck. Blood wells from the wound, dripping down your chest, drying on your skin.

The pain is sharp, blinding—you want to scream, cry—but the sound gets caught in your throat. It’s not until a few seconds later that the sting eases—replaced by something almost pleasurable—something that eases the burning ache between your legs. Suddenly you feel the heat of his bite coursing through you—and what it’s doing to you is on the verge of embarrassing. It makes you want him—want him like you have never wanted anyone else before.

“Already loosening up for me. All it takes is a bite.” He drawls against your skin, crimson staining his lips. His grip on your waist tightens, preventing you from moving up the surface of the table as he thrusts harder, deeper.

You breathe shakily as he continues feeding on you, all while mercilessly pushing into you—hitting all the right spots, too. It’s all too much. His bite, the blood loss, the way he splits you apart so perfectly. Soft whimpers spill over your lips as your mind grows hazy—maybe from his fangs sunken deep in your neck, though more likely from your quickly building orgasm.

You don’t want to give it to him. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

But he knows, he knows what you are capable of—what he makes you feel. What he will make you feel.

Tom continues feeding until he’s satisfied, groaning, sighing against your neck—continues draining you until you are on the verge of passing out.

You are so, so close. So close to shattering around him. You shake your head no, tears welling up as he meets your eyes, feeling your walls flutter around him.

And he—merely grins.

“So close, aren’t you? Trying to keep it from me, I see. But that’s not how we play, sweetheart.”

His hand travels down your body, thumb finding your swollen, aching clit. Rubbing tight, delicious circles until your hips buck and tears stream freely down your cheeks. Until your voice is hoarse from whining and moaning. Until you can’t hold it anymore, and you finally, finally let go around him. His hand wraps around your throat as your walls clamp down tightly around him, as your mind is stripped of the last bits of sanity you had left. Thighs trembling violently around him as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. And you can do nothing but take it.

“Fuck— squeezing me like a vice. Going to ruin you. Ruin you for everyone else.”

And with that, his hips stutter against yours, a low groan falling over his lips as he thrusts all the way in, brushing against your cervix one last time before he spills deep inside of you, coating your walls with his release. But he isn’t done—doesn’t stop thrusting, forcing his cum deeper, not until you are whining in overstimulation.

“Please, no more, Tom— can’t take it.” You whimper, hand closing around his wrist.

“Oh, but you can, and will. You will take it until I am satisfied, and you aren’t leaving a second earlier.”

He keeps going until you are limp beneath him, so full of him you’ll be dripping for days to come. Keeps going until he is satisfied, until he’s wrung out every last drop of pleasure from your body.

Because after all, you agreed to it.

Anything, you said. Anything so he would let you live.

Anything.

Right?

Only when your sobs fade, exhaustion taking over, does he pull out, slowly, making you feel every inch of him.

He helps you up then, hands now carrying a subtle gentleness to them. Tom holds your head in place as he inspects your wounds, kisses your tears away. His eyes too have softened, the once scarlet red irises now a darker shade of red, almost brown.

“You did well. Took me like a good girl until the end. I reckon you have earned your life.”

He’s used you. Fed on you. Nearly broken you. Bitten you in a way you’d stay pliant for him.

You dress yourself. Still sobbing, fresh tears staining your cheeks. You don’t look back as you walk to the door to leave.

But before you get to do so, a hiss slips out instead—a sudden, burning pain radiating from right under your collarbone.

Looking down, you see three bright red letters appearing on your skin, drops of blood spilling from them.

T M R

“What the—“ you gasp, softly wiping the blood away before you look back up, meeting Tom’s expression—closed, with a hint of pride. He takes a step closer, gaze fixated on his work on your skin.

“Means you are mine.” He explains, reaching out to wipe over the letters, earning a sharp hiss from you.

“Means I will find you. Anywhere. In every last secluded part of this world, I will always find you. Because you are now bound to me. Bound by blood. You are mine, until death does us part.”

Horror washes over you at the realization.

“And I am certain a smart girl like you knows— a vampire lives forever.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | AUs.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

a huge thank you to my sweet girl @juliet-017 for listening to me yap and complain about this fic - just for me to come up with a whole new plot anyway.

[lynbels]

JAKE WHEN HES JEALOUS AND HE LEAVES A BUNCH OF MARKS ON YOU PUHLEASEEE 🙏🙏

let me in (20cm deeper) - sjy

pairing: jake x reader

synopsis: He wasn’t supposed to care—but one jealous glance, one reckless FaceTime call mid-thrust, and now he’s fucking you like he needs the whole world to know you’re his. ✉️ 2144wc - tw ‼️ jealousy, possessiveness, oral (f receiving), rough sex, marking, face sitting, name kink, phone sex, humiliation, choking (light), degradation, creampie, overstimulation, praise kink, dom!jake

💌 mark me up and I’ll show up to uni the next day without a doubt 😵 pookie I love ur reqs sm send more 😘

He wasn’t supposed to care. That was the rule—his own rule. The one he made the first night he kissed you with too much tongue and not enough thought, when the two of you stumbled into your bedroom half-laughing, half-buzzed, and fully aware that this couldn’t mean anything. You were friends. Good friends. He liked your company, liked your voice when you read texts aloud with dumb impressions, liked how you made taking vitamins feel like a shared inside joke instead of a self-imposed regimen. But that was all it was supposed to be.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with something stupid—an Instagram story, of all things. Jake had opened his phone during a water break at the gym, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt when he saw it. A boomerang. You. Smiling. Head tilted toward someone else. A guy. The caption was harmless—he’s so funny lol—but Jake felt his throat tighten.

He made it through the rest of his workout on autopilot, pushing harder than usual, muscles screaming for rest while his thoughts spiraled. You weren’t even doing anything wrong. You weren’t his. He wasn’t yours. But the image played over and over again in his head: you laughing like that at someone else’s jokes, leaning into their shoulder, letting them have the version of you Jake thought was just his for a little while.

And then you texted.

come over later?

i got wine and that ice cream u like 😋

Jake stared at your message for a full five minutes, heart thudding hard against his chest. His first instinct was to say no, to pull back and cool off, to remind himself of his stupid rules about boundaries and keeping things clean. But then he remembered your smile in that photo, how open and easy it looked.

He texted back.

be there in 15

He didn’t take his usual post-gym ginseng shot. Didn’t do his skincare. Didn’t even double-check his weekly checklist of personal goals.

Because suddenly, all Jake could think about was making sure you remembered exactly who you belonged to tonight.

You open the door barefoot and braless, wearing one of those oversized shirts that barely covers your thighs—probably on purpose. Jake knows you. You’re not oblivious. You know exactly what you do to him when you act like this: all casual and sweet and soft, like you’re not the same person who had their head on someone else’s shoulder earlier.

“Hey,” you say like nothing happened, already turning back toward the kitchen. “I opened the red. Wanna pour?”

He follows silently, eyes on the curve of your legs as you walk. There’s music playing—something soft and lazy—and he realizes it’s the kind of song people play on dates. Candlelight flickers on the counter. You always keep it cozy when he comes over, but tonight it feels too intentional. Too romantic.

He wonders if the other guy saw you like this.

Jake doesn’t say much as you hand him a glass of wine. He doesn’t joke around like he usually does. He just leans against the counter, swirling the drink, pretending not to watch the way you sip yours with a slight smirk.

“So,” you start, licking a drop of wine from your lip, “what’s with the face? You look like you benched your personal best and didn’t get praised for it.”

His jaw ticks. “Saw your story.”

Your brows lift. “What, the one with Yena’s party?”

Jake hums, gaze dropping to your bare thighs. “Yeah. That one.”

You lean a little closer, head tilting. “He’s just a friend, Jake. You jealous or something?”

There it is. The spark. The dangerous one.

Jake sets his wine down with a quiet clink. “No,” he lies, voice low and clipped. “Just curious why he’s got you laughing like that. I don’t remember you looking that happy the last time I made you come.”

The air thickens. Your smile falters for half a second, like you weren’t expecting him to be that blunt. Then it returns—slow, calculated. You set your wine down too, stepping between his legs where he leans against the counter.

“You could fix that,” you whisper. “If you want.”

Jake stares at you for a long, long moment. Every disciplined bone in his body screams at him to slow down, to play it cool, to not let you see how tightly he’s wound. But you’re close now. Too close. And your skin smells like warm sugar and sin.

And in this moment, with your mouth inches from his and your thigh brushing his jeans—Jake doesn’t want to be responsible. He just wants you wrecked and shaking, begging for the man you almost forgot was yours.

Jake doesn’t kiss you gently. He crashes into you like a dam finally bursting, months of restraint swept away in one hard press of his mouth. His hands find your waist, then your hips, then the backs of your thighs as he lifts you onto the counter like you weigh nothing. The wine glasses clink behind you, forgotten. Your shirt rides up, and Jake’s lips never leave yours—just grow hungrier, messier, more desperate.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, biting harder with each inch. “Walking around like this… smiling like that… for someone else.”

Your breath catches when his teeth graze the base of your neck. “He didn’t even—”

“Don’t care,” Jake growls, already sucking a bruise into the hollow of your throat. “You’re mine when I’m here. You get that?”

You nod, already breathless, already aching. His hands slip beneath your shirt—warm, rough, and intent—and you gasp when he pulls it over your head in one smooth motion. He doesn’t give you time to feel shy. Doesn’t even pause.

Instead, his mouth is everywhere at once—on your collarbone, between your breasts, down your stomach. Each kiss is matched with a mark. Sharp nips that bloom into bruises. His tongue soothes them after, but it’s all part of the same rhythm: claim, soothe, repeat.

“Jake,” you whimper, squirming as he pulls your thighs apart with an easy grip. “You’re being—”

“Thorough,” he finishes, looking up at you from between your legs, eyes dark with jealousy and heat. “You let someone else make you laugh. I’m gonna remind you who makes you scream.”

And then his mouth is on you. Hot, focused, relentless. You grab at his hair, already trembling from how fast he has you unraveling—but he doesn’t stop. His grip tightens on your hips when you try to close your thighs. He growls against you when you arch your back. And when your voice cracks on his name, he moans like he’s starving for the sound.

By the time he pulls away, your thighs are shaking, your breath ragged. His chin glistens and his shirt is wrinkled from how hard you clung to him. And you’re already marked—neck, chest, thighs. Painted in him.

Your legs are still shaking when he stands back up, hands splayed on your thighs, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as they rake over your flushed skin. You expect him to kiss you again, but he doesn’t—not right away. Instead, he just looks at you for a second. Really looks. Like he’s memorizing the sight of you—lips parted, chest rising, already marked all over with proof of him. Then he breathes out hard and reaches down to undo his belt.

The sound of it slipping through the loops is enough to make your stomach flutter.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he mutters, tugging his jeans and boxers down just enough, his cock already hard and leaking. “Not until I’m done.”

You barely have time to nod before he’s pulling you to the edge of the counter, lining himself up between your thighs. One hand grabs your waist—firm, possessive—the other wraps around the back of your neck, keeping your face close to his.

“Look at me,” he whispers, pushing in slow. “Every second of this.”

You cry out, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in as he stretches you. You’ve done this before—more than once—but it still knocks the air from your lungs. He’s thick, and he knows it, knows exactly how to make it burn just a little, how to pause halfway in so you feel every inch. Your walls flutter around him, body struggling to take it.

“Too much?” Jake’s voice is low but strained, jaw clenched as he waits. You nod and whimper, biting your lip, and he dips forward to kiss your temple, whispering, “You’ve got it. I’ve got you. You can take it.”

He pushes the rest of the way in and holds himself there, buried deep, letting you cling to him while your body adjusts. When you moan into his neck, hips twitching, Jake groans low in his throat.

“You feel so good like this,” he growls, voice roughened by restraint. “Tight… soft… mine.”

Then he starts to move—slow, deep thrusts that make the counter creak beneath you. His grip stays locked on your waist as he sets a pace that has your head falling back, cries tumbling from your lips with each push. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the kitchen, messy and raw, and Jake just keeps going—driving into you like he’s making a point.

“You don’t need anyone else,” he breathes into your ear. “I give you everything you need, don’t I?”

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp.

“Say it.”

“You do, Jake—fuck—only you.”

That pulls a growl from his chest. His mouth is back on your neck, tongue and teeth working over fresh skin, leaving new bruises over the ones that haven’t faded yet.

And when he comes—deep inside you, buried to the hilt—he doesn’t stop whispering your name like it’s a promise.

You’re already wrecked. Your cheek sticks to the counter, lips swollen from biting down on them, and your thighs shake every time Jake thrusts back into you. He hasn’t let up—not even a little—his cock buried deep, stretching you over and over with a punishing rhythm that’s more about proving something than just pleasure. And it’s working. You’re dripping. Whimpering. Ruined.

Then you feel the shift. Jake leans forward, still fucking into you, and you hear the soft beep of your phone unlocking.

“What are you doing?” you manage to whisper, voice broken, barely hanging on.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to. Because a second later, the FaceTime ring starts, loud and clear, vibrating right on the counter next to your face.

Your eyes snap open. “Jake, no—”

“Too late,” he grits, one hand curling around your hip, the other holding the phone up high enough to show everything. “He wanted your attention, didn’t he? Let’s give it to him.”

The screen flashes—connected.

And there he is. The guy from the night before. Confused, then wide-eyed, horrified.

Jake doesn’t stop thrusting. In fact, he slows down just a little, dragging each movement out, your slickness obscene in the quiet between the heavy sound of skin and your shaky moans.

“She’s a little busy right now,” Jake says, voice low and smug. “Thought you’d want to see what that laugh of hers really sounds like when it’s real.”

The guy stammers. “What the fuck—“

“Say hi, baby,” Jake murmurs, grabbing your jaw and angling your face toward the screen.

You don’t speak, but the moan that spills from your lips as he hits your spot again—that says enough.

Jake tilts the phone lower, angling it to show your trembling legs, the marks he’s left all over your skin, the way your body clings to him with every thrust. “You watching? You get it now?”

You swear you see him end the call out of panic—or maybe disgust. Either way, Jake tosses the phone aside the second the screen goes dark. His hand is back on your hip in a flash, grip brutal now as he fucks into you harder.

“Mine,” he growls. “All fucking mine.”

And this time when you cum, it’s not from his hands or his mouth or even his words.

It’s the thrill of being seen.

You wake up slow, your limbs heavy and sore, skin warm under the covers. The sunlight leaking in through the blinds feels too bright, too real, like it has no business touching a body that still belongs to the night before.

Your throat’s dry, your thighs ache, and every small movement reminds you of exactly where his hands were—how many times he pulled you apart and put you back together. You shift with a soft whimper, the soreness between your legs blooming deeper, and instinctively tug the blanket tighter around your chest.

That’s when you see it.

The marks.

Everywhere.

Faint bruises along your hips, scattered bites on your thighs, faded red fingerprints at your waist. There’s one on your collarbone, dark and angry, shaped like his mouth. And on your inner thigh, dangerously close to somewhere far more sensitive, his name. Sloppily written in deep purple hickeys.

You press your legs together and bite your lip, heart stuttering as the memory floods in—Jake’s voice, low and angry; his pace, rough and punishing; the look on his face when he hung up that FaceTime call like he had won something.

Because he had.

You hear him before you see him—soft footsteps, the clink of something ceramic. And then the door creaks open.

Jake steps in with messy hair, sleepy eyes, and a mug in each hand. He’s wearing only sweats, slung low on his hips, and his chest still has faint scratch marks from your nails. When he sees you awake, he grins—sleepy, soft, like he didn’t completely ruin you just a few hours ago.

“Mornin’,” he says, offering a mug. “You’re gonna need water too. You passed out right after…”

You take the drink without answering, eyes still locked on the hickeys.

He notices.

Jake sets his mug down, comes to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing over your thigh. “Sorry,” he murmurs, sounding not sorry at all. “Got a little carried away.”

You glare at him half-heartedly. “You FaceTimed him.”

His smirk is immediate. “And he answered.”

You groan, covering your face. “Jake.”

“Hey,” he says gently, prying your hands away. His thumb grazes your cheek. “He needed to see it. I needed him to see it.”

You don’t respond. You don’t need to. Because when Jake leans down and kisses the mark on your neck like it’s sacred—when his lips brush over bruised skin like he’s trying to apologize without saying the words—you realize something else:

It’s not just about jealousy.

It’s about you.

You, and how he’s terrified of losing what you are—even if it means making the whole damn world watch him prove it.

wanna read my longer ffs? Check out @shy9-29 || prompt list request

[invisible-vampire13]

Greg the hero wanted to throttle Atlas and figure out how to put Prince Mars back to rest without losing his head. The rest of the party looked on in awe, knowing that their necromancer could barely bring back a dead mouse.

Queen Stella however, stared at him proudly. Remembering how her son decided that the skeletal looking boy from the worst part of her kingdom was his best friend at the ripe old age of four. How she watched them grow up to fine young men. When Atlas started showing signs of magic with Mars supporting him at each step. Having to watch Atlas wreck an unused room of the castle when he heard the news. Knowing that Mars would have found a way to come back from the dead to avenge himself.

How the engagement rings Atlas and Mars made for each other was placed on a necklace that the young necromancer now wore. The cold rage in his eyes that the hero hasn’t seemed to notice yet.

“Thank you all,” Queen Stella finally says, her eyes lingering on her son-in-law, “I know that you get my revenge for me, for my son.”

"My son has been brutally killed and I seek revenge," said the Queen. "You have my sword." proclaimed the Hero. "And my bow," added the Archer. "And my magic," intoned the Mage. "And my gun," quipped the Ranger. "AND MY AXE!" exclaimed the Warrior. "And your son!" replied the Necromancer.

[enwoso]

blood, not bond | alessia russo x child!reader

-> based on this request

grumpy masterlist | leah is in it but she kind of pops in and out of it - more focused on: harrison, alessia and lovie.

at seventeen, you had gotten used to the strange rhythm of your relationship with, your dad, harrison.

once every four or five weeks maybe longer if life got in the way, you'd meet up with him. lunch or a quick shop around town, maybe both if you were lucky.

he'd always ask you about school, about your football commenting on the fact that he managed to watch your match on a stream like it meant something to you, or if you were still writing in that journal you'd started in year nine.

it wasn't uncomfortable, wasn't bad either. it just wasn't what people imagined when they heard the word 'dad'.

because really you didn't have a 'dad'. you had an alessia and a leah. they were your parents. your constants.

harrison well, he was.. something else? a figure which floated in and out your life with well meaning eyes and clumsy attempts to connect.

this time you were spending a rare saturday with harrison. but it wasn't in a 'cherished' kind of way, more like it was an obligation.

you didn't hate seeing your dad, sometimes on the rare occasion you'd actually enjoy yourself but most of the time were just.. odd. scheduled. like fitting a phone call in with a stranger into a diary full of people who actually knew you.

this one had started like the others: brunch at the cafe that he liked, shopping afterward if he remembered that you needed new trainers or a jacket. a few attempts at small talk — 'is school going okay?', how's football? scored any crackers yet?', 'how's your mum?'

the day had been fine, until it wasn't.

"so," harrison started, halfway through his eggs benedict. "louis and lily would love to meet you one day."

you blinked, pausing mid-forkful of your pancakes, "who?"

he just smiled like it was a name you should recognise, "your younger brother and sister. i've told them about you, there always asking when they're going to meet you."

your fork hovered still in mid-air, your mouth going dry. "you.. you have kids?"

"yeah, i do" he said as if it was nothing and that it should have been common knowledge to you. "well, you knew about zoey—"

"i knew you had a girlfriend when i was like eleven, you posted her once and then never mentioned her again."

he frowned, "louis is five and lily is three. and the only reason i didn't tell you sooner is cause i didn't want to throw too much at you all at once, but they've been asking about you for a while — especially louis, he's a big football and arsenal fan"

you didn't respond, just looked down. you now suddenly hyper-aware of the clink of cutlery around the cafe, the swirl of the cream in your coffee cup. your appetite vanished.

the rest of the day passes in awkward silences and occasional comments which you couldn't force yourself to reply too. he asked if you liked a jacket, you shrugged. asked about football, you said 'great'

finally, when he pulled up outside your house, home, he put the car in park but didn't turn off the engine.

"i'm serious, y/n" he said, hand still on the steering wheel like he might need to grip it to keep the conversation from drifting. "think about it please, they'd love to meet you."

you nodded slowly, "we'll see." it came out small, flat. a placeholder for all the thing you didn't know how to say.

you slipped out the car muttering a 'thank you' but before he could say more, you were heading up the driveway with quick steps and slipping through your front door like a ghost.

the front door creaked with the same familiar cream it always did. leah was in the kitchen, stirring something in a pan which you knew she'd of been instructed to do by your mum. music drifting through the hallway, quiet but calm.

"hey, angel. you good?" leah called out, you nodded again, tossed your shoes by the door, alessia bundling down the stairs as she ruffled your hair a warm smile on her lips.

"lovie! how was your day?" she asked as she leant against the banister, you knowing she wouldn't drop it until you said something.

"fine" you said, dropping your bag by the stairs.

"did you go for food?" alessia asked, her eyebrows raising at your short answers and the way you were behaving.

"yeah." you hummed, one foot on the bottom step waiting for your exit to go straight to your room.

"you want tea?"

"i'm good." you didn't wait for more. just walked straight up to you room and closed the door with a quiet click.

leaving your mum at the bottom of the stairs, her being slightly confused at your quiet behaviour, usually you'd come home with a story or maybe at least complaining about your dad asking you a question about something you hadn't done since you were ten.

but today, nothing. silence. but alessia knew better than to push. you'd tell her eventually.

—

alessia waited. she didn't follow after you. didn't push. she never did. she left you in your room while her and leah ate tea together. a slight look of concern on leah's face when alessia told her to leave you when she asked if she should call you down for dinner.

but a few hours later, after you had spent most of the evening buried in your duvet with your headphones on, alessia knocked softly and poked her head in.

leah had taken the dog out. the house was still, humming only with the low buzz of the boiler and the occasional car passing outside.

"can i come in?" you shrugged glancing up at your mum as she poked her head through the door.  you were sat cross-legged, staring blankly at your phone screen. alessia walked in, sat on the edge of the bed like she always had since you were small.

"so how was today? with your dad."

alessia looked at the way your face changed at then mention of it. she could tell something was off. not just because you were quiet, but the way you moved as if your skin didn't quite fit right. your shoulders were tight, tense.

"hey" alessia said gently. "you okay?"

your eyes stayed on your phone screen, you having been doom scrolling for the past few hours trying to get rid of your thoughts however it was probably making them worse.

your jaw clenched once. then again. then— "he told me he has another family."

alessia's heart thudded, a pout forming over her lips, "lovie.."

"i have siblings," you snapped, you voice sharp. "siblings, mum. five and three. and tells me like it's some lovely fun little surprise over brunch!"

alessia's face dropped, she knew about harrison moving on with zoey, in a way she was delighted it had meant he wouldn't keep sticking his nose in her relationship with leah and she knew about louis.

not because she found out from harrison himself first (no surprise there) but, from one of harrison's friends she bumped into while doing a late shop one afternoon. harrison then telling her a few days later, alessia urging him to tell you but he promised he would when the time was right.

"wow. i-i didn't know about the three-year-old. just louis but that was years ago."

"you knew!?" your voice hitched as you head snapped to look at your mum. hurt blooming behind your eyes.

"i knew about louis and yeah we both knew about zoey, but i didn't know they'd had another child." alessia explained, her voice calm, too calm for your liking. with the way your chest felt like it was about to explode.

"and what? you didn't think to tell me?" you snapped, your voice dripping with bitterness but also hurt.

alessia took a slow breath, "it wasn't my place to say anything. at the end of the day lovie, he is your dad. it should've come from him."

your eyes flashed. "oh, come on. that's such a cop-out."

"no, i didn't mean it like that."

"then how did you mean it?" your voice rose, frustration starting to build. "cause right now it sounds a lot like you just didn't want to deal with it. just like he didn't either."

alessia flinched but she didn't move her eyes hardening. "hey, no, don't put me in the same category as him, lovie. i've been here. every day. for every meltdown, for every match, for every homework crisis."

you started pacing back and forth in your room. "yeah, you have. you've been here. and he's been off playing happy families with some other kids. buying them toys, tucking them into bed, going to their school plays, their out of school clubs—"

"you don't know that."

"i don't have to!" you nearly shouted. "cause i can guess. cause i know what it looks like when someone doesn't show up, and he's had plenty of practice."

alessia took a careful step forward wanting to try and help calm you down before you did something silly. "you're allowed to be upset. you're allowed to be angry."

"well, good. because i am." you said, voice cracking with each word. "he shows up once a month, if that, buys me lunch, asks me about school like he knows me, and then drops this on me like it's something i should be excited about."

you stop pacing and turned to your mum, eyes shining with unshed tears. "he said they want to meet me. that they know all about me. like i'm just some story that their dad tells sometimes at bedtime. like i'm not even a real person."

alessia's heart broke a little more with each word. "he should've told you a long time ago. but he also should have done a lot differently then he did when you were growing up."

your voice shook as you sniffled. "i spent years thinking i did something wrong. that i wasn't enough. that i was the problem. that if i'd been better—quieter, smarter, easier—maybe he'd have stayed, maybe he'd of made more of an effort to get to know me. and now i find out he did stay. just not for me."

"oh, lovie..."

"he just replaced me, mum. he left you, and then he replaced me. like i didn't even mean anything."

and that was it—the dam broke. your legs gave way as you collapsed onto the side of your bed, and the tears came hard, your chest heaving with the weight of everything you'd been holding in for years.

alessia was beside you in an instant, pulling you close, her arms wrapping tightly around you like a shield. alessia didn't speak right away. just held you. let you sob.

"i don't want to meet them," you whispered eventually, voice hoarse as tears still streamed down your face.

"you don't have to," your mum murmured against you. "you don't owe him anything. this isn't your responsibility."

"he said they'd love to meet me," you scoffed bitterly. "but they don't know me. i'm just a name. some girl he sees sometimes. i'm not part of his family. not really."

alessia pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. "then let's make something very clear—you do have a family. me. mama. this house. your many, many aunties. your friends. the people who show up. that's your family."

you nodded, barely. your hands clutched the hem of your mum's jumper.

"do you think it makes me a bad person for not wanting to see them?" you asked softly, slight hiccup coming from your lips.

"no," alessia said without a beat of hesitation. "it makes you honest. and human. and hurting. and that's perfectly okay."

your mum stood, slow and careful, like you might shatter if she moved too fast. "your allowed to be angry."

"i don't even know what i am." your hands were trembling now. "i'm not mad he has a family. i'm mad i'm not part of it. that i never was. that he never gave me the chance. that he never loved me, not properly."

flash— age four: harrison meeting you for the first time after walking away after alessia had told him she was pregnant. bringing a little teddy bear like it could fill four years of nothing.  you didn't even remember it—but you remember your mum's face when the door had closed again.

flash— age nine: he missed your school plays. said he had work, but you saw the tagged picture later on. a dinner. smiling. a different world.

flash— age twelve: he missed your birthday. fourteen: he never messaged to say congratulations on your first start for the england youth team.

flash — age sixteen: he said he'd take you out for dinner after your exams, you sat waiting for hours - he didn't even bother to call and cancel.

instead it was just a pattern of promises that never really included you.

alessia took a slow step closer as she knelt down in front of you, you sat looking at your hands in your lap. "you don't have to figure this all out today, lovie."

"i don't want to meet them," you said, voice still hoarse but still sharp. "i don't want to play happy families with strangers. i don't want to pretend i've ever been more than a once-a-month reminder for him."

alessia arms wrapped around you like muscle memory, strong and warm and safe. "and that's okay, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. you have us. you always have and always will, that's never going to change."

you pressed your face into her mum's shoulder in front of you, letting the tears come again, now that you weren't pretending to be okay.

the front door opened. leah's voice floated in, as she called out, the sound of the dogs collar echoing as it shook itself in the hallway. "i'm backk!"

alessia looked over the top of your head, eyes soft as she whispered. "we'll get there. i've got you."

she stroked your hair gently as you curled into her side, exhausted and broken but safe. it wasn't fixed. not yet. and maybe wouldn't be for a while. but you had what mattered most. you had home.

[masorciereviolette]

Hi, hope you’re having a good day! I was wondering if you could write an au Agatha x reader where R is in love with Agatha but Agatha is still hung up and chasing Rio and then R finds Agatha and Rio hugging and that’s when she finally snaps. Reader cries over Agatha and then her friends (maybe Jen, Lilia and Alice) tells her that it’s time for her to let Agatha go because she deserves to be loved the same way that she loves and Reader goes and does that. R starts to become distant from Agatha and starts talking to Wanda and Agatha started wondering why R is behaving like this and Lilia eventually tells her and now Agatha can’t help but feel jealous and possessive over R and now the tables have turned— Agatha is now chasing R after she realizes that she loves R. The angst and the pinning 😩😩😩 plus the fluff that comes after when Agatha finally won R back plus claiming R as hers ehem ehem… smut :> thank you so much!!!

The One Who Stayed

Pairing: Au Agatha Harkness x Reader, Past Agatha x Rio

Warnings: Small Time Jumps, Unresolved Feelings, Hurt, Angst, Pining, Past Toxic Relationship, Comfort, Minors DNI 18+, Graphic Sexual Descriptions, Happy Ending.

Word count: 17k

A/N: BRO OH MY GOD ?!? This request was insane but absolutely phenomenal— ✋🏽😭 I’ll warn you now there is slight pov switching but it’s not too bad. I had a few days off and as soon as I read this request I was OBSESSED and started IMMEDIATELY :)))

Taglist: @harknessshi

Masterlist Link

The worst part wasn’t the hug. It was the way Agatha melted into it. Like her body still remembered what it was like to hold Rio. Like it was the easiest thing in the world to fall back into arms that had once broken her.

Because even though Agatha never kissed you—never reached for you the way you reached for her, she never pushed you away either. She let you stay close. Let you love her in the quiet, unseen ways. Bringing her coffee when she forgot breakfast , staying late to help her organize lecture notes, listening when her voice shook after difficult conversations with the board.

She never really asked for any of it. But she never told you to stop. And so, you hoped. You hoped in the way people do when they have nothing else to stand on—carefully, foolishly, hungrily. Maybe, just maybe, if you stayed… she’d look your way fully. She’d see it was you, not Rio, who had stayed behind all this time. Who had loved her through every shadow, but in that hallway, all your hope cracked.

The sunlight spilled in through the tall windows, painting golden lines on the stone floor, and there they were—Agatha and Rio. Just ahead. Just close enough. Agatha’s eyes were closed. Her arms looped around Rio’s waist, her cheek resting on her shoulder like it was some long-awaited exhale. Like comfort. Like home. Your heart didn’t break all at once. It caved in slowly, like a house collapsing under the weight of what was never reinforced.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your body locked in place, your chest burning with something sharp and wild, your hands curled into fists to stop the tremble that threatened to give you away. Maybe if you didn’t move, they wouldn’t notice you. Maybe if you stayed still enough, the moment would rewind itself. But it didn’t. So you turned—quietly, carefully—before either of them could see the way your face had started to crumple.

You made it out of the building. You even managed to smile at a student who passed you on the steps, their voice distant and muffled, like you were underwater. It wasn’t until you were home, safe behind the familiar click of your door, that the dam finally broke.

The tears came in waves. Silent. Angry. Inescapable. You slid down the door like it was the only thing keeping you upright, burying your face in your hands as your chest heaved in uneven bursts. It felt humiliating and cinematic all at once—like one of those scenes you used to scoff at in movies, thinking no one really fell apart like that.

But here you were. Cracked wide open on your hardwood floor, mourning something that was never really yours. And still…Still, in the back of your mind, curled in the small, deluded corners of your heart—You hoped she’d see you one day. Not as the friend who was always there. Not as the quiet support.

But as someone she could love. Because love wasn’t supposed to be something you had to earn. But with her, you’d been willing to try anyway and maybe that was the real tragedy. Not the hug. But the way you still wanted her, even after.

Your phone buzzed.

Once.

Twice.

Then again.

You didn’t have the strength to look. Not right away. You were still curled on the floor, eyes red, throat raw, limbs heavy with grief you hadn’t earned the right to feel—not really. Not when Agatha had never been yours. Not when you had walked yourself into this heartbreak like it was inevitable. Eventually, with shaking fingers, you reached for your phone

Lilia: We’re coming over. Jen saw Rio leaving with Agatha.

Lilia: No arguing.

You didn’t reply. You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. You just sat there, knees to your chest, hoodie sleeves damp with tears that wouldn’t stop coming even though your body felt like it had nothing left.

Fifteen minutes later, the knock came. One sharp rap—Alice. Then three more, lighter and spaced—Lilia’s pattern. The last was a full open-palm impatient thump—Jen, impatient as always. The door creaked open. You hadn’t locked it. You heard the shuffle of shoes, the quiet gasp from Alice, and Lilia’s breath catching in her throat. Jen cursed under her breath.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Alice murmured, already kneeling beside you. Her hand reached to gently cradle the back of your head, guiding you up enough to rest against her shoulder. You let her. You didn’t have the fight in you to pretend you were fine.

“I’m here,” she whispered, soft and maternal. “We’ve got you.” Jen lowered herself to the floor in front of you, crossing her legs. Her tone wasn’t soft—it was never soft—but it was steady. Grounding.

“You give so much love,” she said, brushing your hair away from your damp cheeks with care that didn’t match her sharp voice. “To the wrong people, maybe. But you do. You love with your whole heart, and it’s beautiful.” She paused. “But you can’t keep giving it to someone who only sees you when it’s convenient.”

You flinched. Jen sighed, then leaned forward and took your hand “You deserve someone who doesn’t treat you like a backup plan.”

But it was Lilia—Lilia who’d been with you through every bad decision, every whispered hope about Agatha in the middle of the night—who finally shattered something inside you. She didn’t speak right away. She stood silently in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes rimmed red like she’d been crying too. Like she’d been holding it in for your sake.

When she finally stepped forward, her voice was quiet. Controlled. Like she didn’t trust herself to speak loudly “She’s not going to choose you.” You looked up, startled. Your lips parted, but no words came “Not while she’s still haunted by Rio,” Lilia continued, voice beginning to tremble. “She says she’s trying to let go, but she keeps going back. Over and over. And you…” Her voice cracked “You deserve to be loved like you’re it. Not like you’re next.”

You blinked, and the tears started again, silent and unrelenting. Lilia dropped to her knees in front of you, gripping your other hand tightly. “I’ve watched you shrink yourself for her. Wait for her. Make excuses. You deserve someone who doesn’t need time to realize what they have.”

“She doesn’t even see it,” Jen added quietly. “Doesn’t see what she’s doing to you.”

Alice held you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You don’t have to let her keep hurting you to prove you’re loyal.” And you broke. Not like a dam, but like a thread finally snapping—tired, frayed, done.

The sobs that came weren’t gentle. They were full-bodied, aching, sharp enough to leave your ribs sore. You felt Lilia’s hands tighten, Jen’s forehead press gently to your knee, Alice’s arms wrap fully around you like she could keep you from falling apart completely.

None of them said anything after that. Not for a while. They just stayed there. On the floor. With you. Later, they moved you to the couch, wrapped you in a blanket, and passed around mugs of tea no one really drank. Jen put on some quiet, wordless music. Alice braided your hair like she used to when you were in grade school. Lilia sat beside you in silence, her hand never leaving yours.

And still, you couldn’t sleep. Not even when the tears stopped, Not even when the house fell quiet. Not even when the weight of your friends anchored you enough to stay in one place. You just stared at the ceiling. Aching in places you didn’t have names for. Wondering how long it would take for hope to die. Wondering if it ever really would.

Over the next few weeks, you did the only thing you hadn’t tried yet. The thing everyone had told you to do long before you were ready. You let Agatha go. Not in some grand, cinematic way. There was no big confrontation, no dramatic goodbye. Just quiet choices. One by one. Until all that was left between you and her was silence.

You started with the emails. Her name used to make your heart skip—a flutter, a jolt, that electric ache of possibility. But now, every time her name lit up your inbox, it felt like a bruise being pressed. So when she sent another message about the joint lecture—“Need your input on the ethical paradox section. Thoughts?”—you stared at it for a long time. Then you hit “Forward.”

To Lilia. You typed out a single line: “You’re better at handling her anyway.” Then you closed your laptop. After that, it got easier. Or maybe just more mechanical. You stopped sitting beside her in the faculty lounge. There had always been this unspoken arrangement—you’d grab her favorite tea, she’d save you the spot by the window. That spot sat empty for a few days before another professor took it. You started eating lunch outside, even when the air turned sharp with cold. At least the wind didn’t pretend to care.

When Agatha passed you in the hallway, you didn’t look. She called your name once. Softly. You kept walking. You didn’t stop loving her. You just stopped letting her hurt you. It was raining the day you met Wanda. One of those gray, quiet rains that made the whole world feel a little softer around the edges.

You wandered into a bookstore on 9th and Langston, the kind of place that smelled like old pages and warm wood, a safe little cocoon from everything outside your chest. You headed straight for the poetry section, tucking yourself between narrow shelves and pretending the ache inside you could be soothed with Rilke and Dickinson.

You were holding a worn copy of Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet when a voice beside you spoke—light, curious, like a breeze slipping through an open window “That’s my favorite translation.”

You turned, startled. The woman standing beside you had soft auburn hair pulled into a loose braid and kind eyes that didn’t pry. She smiled, and it wasn’t the kind of smile that demanded anything. It just… was. Gentle. Honest. Patient “Oh?” you managed. Your voice was scratchy from disuse.

Wanda nodded, her gaze flicking to the book in your hand. “The Mitchell version. There’s something about the way he keeps the longing intact. Doesn’t dilute the pain, just… frames it.”

You blinked. Then, almost without meaning to, you whispered, “Love consists in this: that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.”

Her smile widened, softening the curve of her lips. “See?” she said, tilting her head. “You get it.”

You almost laughed. Almost. But it caught in your throat “Sorry,” you said instead, hugging the book to your chest. “I’m not great at—”

“Talking to strangers in bookstores during rainstorms?” she offered, still gentle. “I’m Wanda.” You nodded, too shy to give your name yet.

She didn’t push “Well, mystery poet,” she said, “if you ever want a recommendation, I practically live here.” She tapped her fingers on the shelf once, then turned and disappeared down the aisle.

You stood there for a long time, staring at the space where she’d been. You didn’t expect to see her again. But the next week, she was there—sitting on the floor near the fiction section, flipping through a novel, her thumb absently stroking the spine. She looked up when you walked by. This time, you smiled first “Hey,” you said.

Wanda grinned. “Took you long enough.” You ran into her again the week after that. And again the week after. Always in that little bookstore, always like fate didn’t need to announce itself to be real.

Each time, she asked more questions. Not the invasive kind. Just the curious, open-ended kind that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t invisible anymore. And little by little, you started breathing easier around her. Wanda was warm in the way that didn’t burn. She didn’t make your heart race with fear or doubt or longing. She didn’t keep you on a leash of half-promises and maybe-one-days. She just showed up. And stayed. And for the first time in a long, long while…That was enough.

Agatha noticed your absence almost immediately. At first, it was subtle—just a shift in the air. A missing presence in the faculty lounge. A silence where your laugh usually lived. She told herself you were just busy. Stressed. Needing space. But even as she said it in her head, she didn’t believe it.

What she hadn’t known—what she hadn’t wanted to know—was that you had found solace in someone else. She saw it for the first time one crisp morning outside the lecture halls, when the autumn chill had started biting at the edges of the breeze. Agatha was walking back from a meeting, preoccupied with thoughts of an upcoming board presentation, when she heard it

Your laugh. Clear. Bright. Free. It froze her mid-step. Her head turned instinctively. And there you were—shoulder to shoulder with someone unfamiliar. A woman with auburn hair, soft features, and eyes that never seemed to leave your face. You were holding a to-go coffee, smiling so widely your eyes crinkled at the corners. The woman reached out and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Gesture small. Intimate.

Agatha’s stomach turned. She hadn’t seen that smile in weeks. Hadn’t been the cause of it in even longer. The redhead—Wanda. She remembered Lilia vaguely mentioning her as the new hire in the science department. She was standing a little too close for Agatha’s liking. Your arms brushed, and neither of you moved away. Wanda said something else, too quiet to hear, and you laughed again, head tipping back with ease.

It was that ease that gutted her. The absence of tension in your shoulders. The way your eyes softened without hesitation. That used to be hers—or at least she thought it was. She didn’t mean to speak, but your name slipped out—softly, uncertain “(Y/N).”

You looked over. Just slightly. Just enough to acknowledge her then, calmly—coldly—you said, “Professor Harkness.” A nod. That was it. Like she was a stranger. A colleague. An echo.

You turned back to Wanda before the ache in Agatha’s chest had time to bloom fully, and walked with her into the building, laughter still lingering in the air like smoke. The following weeks were quiet. Too quiet. And in place of your voice came sterile, clipped messages from someone else entirely.

Her inbox began to fill with updates about the joint philosophy lecture series. Lesson plans. PowerPoints. Adjusted timelines. But none of them were from you. They were from Professor Calderu. The fourth message read: “Please review the attached materials. I’ve also edited the speaker notes for clarity.”

The fifth one was worse “I’m handling all future collaboration at Professor (Y/L/N)’s request. Please send any correspondence to me directly going forward.” Agatha stared at it for a long time. Her hand hovered over the mouse, rereading it. Again. And again. As if the meaning might change. As if she might have misunderstood. But she hadn’t. You weren’t coming back. Not to the work. Not to her.

And it made something in her unravel—quietly, steadily. A slow rot of regret creeping through her chest like ivy. Jealousy was a cruel thing. Especially when it wore the face of someone you’d ignored too long. She started asking around. Casually. Or so she thought “Anyone seen Professor (Y/L/N) lately?” she asked one of the admin staff, feigning nonchalance.

“Not really,” came the reply. “Think she’s been working in the bio wing a lot. With that new hire—Wanda something?” Wanda. She tried again later with a colleague at lunch. “How’s that new biology professor everyone’s whispering about? The redhead.”

The response was knowing. “You mean the one always seen with (Y/N)? Yeah. They seem close.” Too close. It wasn’t until Lilia caught her lingering outside your department office that she finally snapped.

Agatha was standing there, staring at your nameplate like it might reveal something. Her arms were crossed, jaw tight, and she looked… lost. Like she couldn’t decide whether to knock or turn away. Lilia rounded the corner, stopping short “Seriously?”

Agatha blinked. “What?”

Lilia crossed her arms, brow arched with irritation. “Stop.”

Agatha frowned. “I’m not—”

“Yes,” Lilia said sharply, stepping closer. “You are. You’re hovering. You’re lurking. You’re doing that thing where you suddenly remember she exists only when someone else does too.”

“I’m not trying to make her feel guilty,” Agatha defended, but it came out weaker than she intended.

“You don’t have to,” Lilia shot back. “Your silence already did that. She waited for you. So long. She let herself hope, Agatha. And all the while, you kept her just close enough to hurt her.” Agatha’s mouth opened, then closed again. She looked away.

Lilia’s voice softened, but only slightly “She stopped waiting. And someone else saw her. Someone who actually wants to be there.”

Agatha’s hands clenched at her sides, Lilia’s eyes narrowed. “Just let her be happy.”

Then, without another word, she walked past her, heels clicking decisively down the hallway. Agatha stayed there for a long time. Still. Small. She didn’t know how to stop the feeling. It crept up on her slowly, like water seeping into cracks she hadn’t known were there. It made her heart race at the worst times, left her staring at walls too long, and made her fingers twitch toward her phone only to hesitate—hovering, uncertain, ashamed.

It hit her the hardest in the quiet spaces. The ones you used to fill. But sometimes, it roared. And sometimes, it burned. Like the day she saw you in the quad, sunlight in your hair, eyes crinkled in laughter as you sat beneath one of the sycamore trees with Wanda. Your knees were nearly touching, and Wanda’s fingers brushed yours—light, casual, familiar. And you didn’t pull away. You leaned in.

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat, and she looked away too fast, like the sun had blinded her. It happened again outside your office two days later. She’d lingered longer than she should have—told herself she was passing by on her way to the lounge. But then she heard it.

Your voice. But not the version she remembered. Not the soft, hesitant tones that wrapped around her like fog. Not the careful, deliberate quiet you always used when speaking to her, afraid to be too much or too open. This was different. You were laughing. Bright and free. Mid-conversation with someone—Wanda, probably. Your words spilled out without restraint, animated and unfiltered, and Agatha felt something twist deep in her chest. She turned before you could catch her there. Again.

You pass her in the hallways now and didn’t even blink. No pause. No hitch in your step. No hopeful glance her way like there used to be. You didn’t flinch from her silence because you no longer expected anything at all. You’d stopped looking for her. And for the first time, Agatha realized… she’d miscalculated everything. She’d spent so long chasing shadows of a woman who didn’t know how to love her properly, obsessing over the wreckage Rio left behind. She kept you close enough to feed her ego, to ease the loneliness, to feel adored. But she never let herself see what was truly in front of her.

Somewhere between the quiet coffees and the midnight drafts of lecture slides, somewhere between your soft smiles and the way you always stayed—Agatha had fallen in love with you. And she hadn’t even noticed. Not until you were gone. Not until she felt the ache of your absence like a bruise she couldn’t stop pressing. She remembered how you used to look at her. Like she was something sacred. Like you were memorizing her in case she ever disappeared. Now, you looked past her. Like she was nothing more than a closed chapter.

Agatha Harkness was unraveling and quickly. Not publicly, of course. No one would dare suspect it. She was still the sharp, composed professor everyone respected, the woman with perfectly constructed sentences and biting wit. She still walked the halls of the university with her usual air of intellectual detachment, a storm wrapped in silk and sarcasm.

But underneath it all—behind the neatly lined eyes and the cool voice that never wavered—she was falling apart. Cracking like old porcelain. Quietly. Where no one could see. Every forced smile, every hollow “let’s catch up soon,” became another thread fraying at the edges of her composure. She moved through her days like a ghost trapped in her own body, her mind elsewhere—always chasing moments she had no right to miss.

It gets worse every time she sees you again almost unavoidably it seemed, this time tucked away in a quiet corner of the campus café, bathed in soft afternoon light. You were sitting across from Wanda—legs crossed beneath the table, hands loosely cradling a cup of tea. She was reading aloud from a book you clearly didn’t need help with, but you were smiling anyway. Beaming, even.

You had your chin in your palm, the other hand resting near hers on the table. Your eyes were warm—happy—focused completely on the woman across from you. And Agatha felt something lurch inside her. It was subtle at first. A dull ache at the back of her ribs. A weight in her throat. But then it bloomed into something heavier, something darker. She had to look away before she could see Wanda reach for your hand.

That night, she sat at her desk long after the sun went down, staring at the glowing screen of her laptop. The shared lecture folder—the one she hadn’t dared open in weeks—blinked up at her like a challenge. She clicked it open. Still nothing from you. Only Lilia’s updates. Sterile. Efficient. Lacking any of the life or banter that once filled the margins. Gone were your ridiculous subject lines, your poorly timed memes, your “I made edits but they’re probably terrible so feel free to mock me later” notes.

Gone was the quiet intimacy of your collaboration. The quiet presence of you. Her gaze drifted to the email thread between you two. Hundreds of exchanges. Lesson drafts, scholarly articles, late-night musings, questions about conference panels. Memes. Inside jokes. A string of life lived together in pixels and paragraphs.

She scrolled. Slowly. Searching for the moment everything shifted. She didn’t realize she was crying until a single tear splashed onto the keyboard, trailing across the spacebar. Another followed. Then another. Her breath caught.

It shouldn’t have hurt this much. Not when she’d chosen this. Not when she told herself she needed space—needed time to sort things out with Rio. To close that chapter properly, before she could start another. But it wasn’t Rio her heart ached for. It was you. It was always you. Why couldn’t she just see that before.

Every time you walked past her without a glance, it scraped across her like glass. Every time she saw you tucked into conversation with Wanda, fingers brushing or hands lingering a second too long, it sent her stomach into freefall. Not because she hated Wanda. She didn’t even know her.

But because Wanda knew what it was to make you laugh now. Because Wanda knew what it felt like to be the center of your world—something Agatha had taken for granted. Something she only realized she needed when it no longer belonged to her. And the worst part? You didn’t seem hurt anymore. You seemed happy. Genuinely, quietly, peacefully happy.

And Agatha hated how much it made her want to scream. How much she envied the ease in your eyes, the way your shoulders had uncurled. The way you no longer carried her absence like a wound. You had healed. And she—who once believed she was immune to this kind of ache—was breaking. Piece by quiet piece.

Still, something inside her refused to accept that this was the inevitable ending. Not when she hadn’t said it. Not when you hadn’t heard her mean it. Not when there was still time left to fix this. So she made herself a promise. This wasn’t how your story ended. Not if she could help it. Not when she’d finally figured out who she couldn’t live without.

She started showing up in your orbit more often. At first, it was subtle. Innocent, almost. A book “accidentally” left in the faculty lounge—one she knew you’d been meaning to borrow. Her favorite annotated copy, spine worn and pages lined with ink.

A quiet afternoon spent in the back corner of the library, not even pretending to read, just hoping to catch a glimpse of you grading papers near the windows where the sun hit just right. She’d linger by the entrance of your classroom when your door was open, asking Lilia vague questions about curriculum structure she already knew the answers to. Anything for a few extra seconds of proximity.

But you never looked up. Not once. And if you noticed the book in the lounge, you left it untouched. If you saw her in the library, you never let it show.

If you heard her voice in the hallway, you didn’t flinch or pause or react—not anymore. If anything, you moved further away. Deliberate. Careful. Like someone who’d been burned and had learned their lesson far too well. Still, she kept trying.

Until one day, she stood just outside your office, palms clammy around the coffee cup in her hands. It was your usual order—half sweet, a splash of oat milk, a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. Your name was scrawled on the side in her handwriting. She had to rewrite it twice because her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

She rehearsed what she might say.

Hey, I was just passing by—

No. That sounds too casual.

I just wanted to check in—

No. You’ll sound pathetic.

She settled for silence. Maybe if she just handed it to you, it would say enough. Maybe the look in her eyes would do what words had failed to but before she could knock, the sound of heels clicking down the corridor caught her attention. Jennifer Kale rounded the corner and stopped short, eyes narrowing instantly “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding fucking me.”

Agatha blinked. “Professor—”

“No,” she snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t get to do this now.”

Agatha straightened, tightening her grip on the cup. “I just want to talk.”

“She doesn’t want to talk,” Jen bit out. “Not to you. What can you not grasp here? You broke her Agatha, you don’t get to come in once she’s finally found her footing—.”

Agatha’s breath caught. “I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did.” Jen’s voice was low, sharp. A blade dulled only by the effort it took to keep from yelling. “You didn’t slam the door in her face, Agatha. You just… kept it open just enough for her to hope.”

“Im not trying to hurt her,” Agatha said, quieter this time.

“Yet you did.” Jen’s arms folded across her chest. “She waited. For months. Holding on to the scraps you gave her. She gave you everything, and you looked right past her. Now someone else is putting her back together.”

Agatha’s throat tightened, a sudden ache clawing up her chest. “Is she happy?” she asked before she could stop herself. Her voice came out hoarse. Small.

Jen stared at her. “Yes. For the first time in a long time.” Silence. The kind that filled too much space and not enough. Agatha dropped her gaze to the coffee cup in her hands. It was already cooling. The lid felt too tight. The warmth was fading. And so was the excuse to be here.

“She’s not a placeholder, Agatha,” Jen said, softer now but no less firm. “She was the one who stayed. She showed up. For everything. And you didn’t even look at her until she finally stopped waiting.” Agatha looked up “That’s on you.”

Jen stepped past her without another word, her shoulder brushing roughly against Agatha’s. The hallway swallowed the sound of her retreating footsteps, leaving only the quiet hum of a nearby vent and the muted beat of Agatha’s own pulse ringing in her ears.

She stood there for a long time. Still. The coffee in her hand was lukewarm now. Her fingers clenched it like a lifeline, but she didn’t move. Her legs felt heavy. Her chest felt tight. And the truth settled over her like dust on an old memory. She had pushed you too far. And you weren’t going to come back this time. But the thing was—she didn’t want to let you go.

Not this time. Not now that she finally knew what she was losing. Not when her heart, after all this time, had finally stopped whispering Rio’s name—and started crying yours. It took three days before she got the courage. Three days of pacing her apartment, rehearsing the words she should’ve said months ago. Three days of deleting half-written emails she couldn’t bring herself to send, heart pounding like she was twenty and stupid again.

On the third day, she didn’t turn away. She waited. Outside of the building , the wind carried the scent of late autumn—crisp, sharp, tinged with the promise of winter. The golden light from the setting sun cast long shadows across the pavement, and Agatha stood tucked beneath the overhang by the door, coffee in one hand, uncertainty in the other.

Through the glass, she watched as you neared the entrance. Slowly. Methodically. The curve of your shoulders was familiar, even now. But there was something different about the way you moved—measured, self-contained. No longer reaching for anything.

You looked tired. But calm. You looked… steady. The way you used to when you leaned into her side after long meetings, laughing under your breath at the way her notes were always color-coded but never organized. The way your fingers tangled in her scarf that one winter morning she let you walk her to the train, stealing her coffee and kissing the lid instead of her cheek.

The way you once touched her—without hesitation, without expectation. Back when she hadn’t even kissed you yet, but you made her feel like she was already loved. When you stepped outside, the glass door swung closed behind you with a gentle thud, and she stepped forward instinctively—like gravity itself pulled her.

You stopped. Your hand tightened around the strap of your bag, fingers white-knuckled in the fading light. You didn’t step back. But you didn’t move forward, either. The silence stretched between you like a wire pulled taut. One wrong breath, and it would snap.

You looked at her like someone you used to know and it broke her “(Y/N)—” she began, voice low, tentative.

You raised a hand gently, your voice firm but not cruel. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

Agatha’s throat tightened. “I just need—” she tried, but her voice cracked. She closed her eyes for a second, steadying herself. “Please. Let me say this.”

You hesitated. Not because you were waiting for her. But because some part of you wanted to believe that whatever she was about to say wouldn’t hurt anymore. She swallowed hard “I was scared,” she said, the words pulled from somewhere raw. “I kept chasing what I thought I needed to fix—what I thought I had to fix—before I could deserve anything new. Before I could let myself have something good.”

She took a step closer “And by the time I realized that what I needed… what I wanted… was already standing in front of me—” her voice dropped to almost nothing, “you were gone.”

You didn’t speak. Your eyes didn’t soften. But they shimmered. Just slightly. As if the weight of her words unsettled something still healing inside of you “I never meant to hurt you,” she said. “But I did. I see that now.”

Agatha took another step. Close enough now that she could see the way your lashes flickered, the way your breath hitched “Wanda seems lovely,” she added softly, unable to stop herself. “But she’s not me.”

You let out a slow breath, no bitterness in it—just quiet finality. “No,” you said. “She isn’t.” You met her gaze then, steady and clear. “And that’s a really good thing.”

The words hit her like a blow. She flinched, visibly. Still, she stayed. Her fingers trembled at her sides, but she didn’t look away “I love you—” Agatha whispered.

You blinked. Once. Twice. “Don’t—”

“I’m in love with you.” She cut you off, her voice was trembling now, stripped of all pretense. “I think I always did. I just didn’t know it until I saw you loving someone else the way you used to love me.” The air between you stilled. You didn’t answer.

She took another step, cautiously, closing the space inch by inch like one wrong move might scare you off. Her voice dropped again, nearly breaking “I should’ve said it before. Fuck— I should’ve chosen you before. I should’ve seen you before. I’m not here to make promises I don’t deserve to keep. I just…” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed the rest “I really needed you to know…..in case”

You stared at her for a long moment. The breeze picked up slightly, catching the ends of her coat and your hair as the silence thickened again, more intimate this time. More vulnerable. And your eyes—those eyes she used to think she could read like poetry—were shining. But unreadable. Not angry. Not forgiving. Just full of something she couldn’t name. Not yet.

You stared at her in silence, chest rising and falling just a little too fast. The wind shifted again, lifting a few strands of your hair across your cheek, but you didn’t move. Neither of you did. Finally, your lips parted. And your voice came out low, measured—but far from calm.

“You don’t get to just say that,” you said, not venomously. Just… honestly. “You don’t get to show up and tell me everything I’ve wanted to hear after months of silence. After watching you cling to someone else like I never even existed.” Agatha opened her mouth, but you cut her off with a hand raised again—this time sharper “No!” you said. “You don’t get to speak until I’m done.” Her eyes widened, and she nodded—silently.

“I waited for you,” you continued, the emotion catching in your throat. “I made excuses for you. I told myself you needed time, or closure, or space, or whatever stupid fucking lie helped me sleep at night. I stood right next to you every damn day, offering everything I had—everything—hoping maybe, one day, you’d finally look at me like I wasn’t just some… background character in your story.”

You took a breath. A shaky one “But I wasn’t enough. Not until I was gone. Not until someone else made me laugh. And now that you’re not the center of my world anymore, suddenly I’m what you’ve been missing?” Your voice cracked. Just once “Worst of all— I still want to believe you,” you said, softer now, with something closer to defeat. “God, I want to. But I don’t know if I can—”

Agatha took a trembling step forward, voice thick with desperation. “Then let me prove it. However you need me to.” You stared at her, blinking slowly. Like you were trying to see her for who she really was—who she might be now. But the ache behind your eyes didn’t budge.

“Sure,” you said with a tired shrug, tone flat. You didn’t believe her. Not yet. Maybe not ever. You ran a hand over your face, exhaling hard into your palm. The weight of everything—the past, the love, the loss—sank heavy in your shoulders “Nothing’s going to be fixed tonight—” you muttered. “Maybe not ever.”

Agatha’s face fell, but she didn’t argue. You stepped back, one foot behind the other like your body was already preparing to leave her behind again. And you did. You turned. Walked away slowly, expecting—hoping, in some quiet corner of your heart—that she would drop it. That she’d let you go this time. That this would be the end.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t the end. Because Agatha Harkness, for the first time in her life, refused to be silent. Refused to let go. The next morning, she showed up outside your class before you even got there—shivering slightly in the early cold, her breath fogging in the crisp air, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers and three pastries from the tiny café you used to love.

She offered them with a sheepish smile, her hair wind-tousled, cheeks pink from the cold “I didn’t know which one you liked best anymore,” she said, not quite meeting your eyes, “so I got them all.”

You blinked at her, at the awkwardly wrapped flowers, at the grease-stained paper bag she held out like a peace offering. You took the bag with numb fingers. Said nothing. Just opened the building door and stepped inside without a word. She didn’t follow.

Three days after that, you were attending a faculty-wide meeting, half-listening to the usual droning updates about semester projections and departmental budgets, when Agatha raised her hand and stood—unannounced. Her voice was clear. Unapologetic “I’d like to speak on the importance of collaborative trust,” she said, gaze scanning the room before landing briefly—pointedly—on you. “How sometimes… we don’t realize what we’ve lost until the silence becomes unbearable.”

The room went quiet. All eyes turned toward her. You didn’t look up. Not really. But your heart thudded painfully behind your ribs, as if your body knew she was speaking to you—only you—even if no one else caught it.

Then came the mailbox note. Folded neatly and tucked between your department memos. Her handwriting was scribbled across the outside: For (Y/N). Inside, in hers—steady, familiar, honest—was the quote you had once used to open your very first co-lecture together, almost a year ago

“We build trust in inches, not miles.”

“Let me earn every inch.”

You sat at your desk holding it for a long time. Long enough that your tea went cold. Long enough that your chest started to ache. You didn’t know how to process any of it. Because it wasn’t grand gestures you were used to from her. Not affection in daylight. Not vulnerability spelled out like that.

You’d been the one who stayed. You were the one who waited. And now, she was chasing you—and it felt like standing in the middle of a storm you no longer knew how to brace for. Wanda noticed the shift. She noticed everything. It was in the way you paused now when she spoke. How your eyes sometimes drifted over her shoulder, like you were listening for a voice that never came. How you smiled at her, but less often with your whole face.

You didn’t mean to, and Wanda never once accused you of it. She was too gentle for that. Too intuitive. But that Thursday, the dam finally cracked. You were eating lunch together in your office, both of you tucked comfortably in your usual seats—your salad mostly untouched, your fork resting limp in your hand.

Across your desk sat the poetry book Agatha had left behind. Somehow, it always ended up back in your line of sight. This time, it was open to the inside cover. Your fingers moved without thinking—tracing the familiar ink of Agatha’s handwriting. You weren’t even reading the words anymore. You were just remembering the way she wrote in the dark, half-asleep, mumbling about Rilke and how he “had the audacity to romanticize longing.”

You didn’t notice Wanda watching you until she gently asked “Where’d you get that?”

You blinked and looked up. Her eyes weren’t cold. Just… curious. But you had the overwhelming feeling that she already knew. You considered lying. Or deflecting. But something in her expression—something kind, but quietly firm—told you the lie wouldn’t land. So you didn’t, you swallowed. “Agatha left it. A while ago.”

Wanda was silent for a long moment, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to solve a puzzle she’d been working on for weeks. The muted hum of the campus café filled the space between you—clinking mugs, soft chatter, the hiss of espresso machines. Outside the window, students passed by in pairs or clusters, laughing, lost in the rush of late afternoon sunlight and deadlines. Then Wanda nodded once, as if confirming something she’d already suspected. Her voice came quietly, almost too gently “She’s in love with you, you know.”

You blinked, not quite processing. “What?”

“She loves you,” she repeated, softer now, like she was afraid saying it any louder would shatter you.

You stiffened, instinctively falling back behind old defenses that had served you well—especially lately. “No,” you said, shaking your head with more force than necessary. “She’s trying to fix a mistake. That’s not remotely the same thing.”

Wanda’s lips curled into a small smile—not mocking, not smug. Just… sad. Knowing. The kind of smile someone wears when they’ve seen this play out before and already know the ending “You’re sitting here touching her handwriting like you’re afraid it’ll disappear,” she said. You looked down without meaning to, hand still resting on the edge of Agatha’s note—creased and well-worn from how often you’d unfolded it, stared at it, folded it again. You hadn’t realized you were doing it. Not consciously. But Wanda had. Of course she had.

Your silence stretched. You didn’t look up. Wanda shifted, voice quieter but still firm, like she was laying down a truth that had no edges to argue with. “You can’t fake that kind of love. Not for this long. Not with this much… heart.” You swallowed hard, throat dry. Her words lodged somewhere deep, scraping against old wounds you weren’t sure had ever healed right.

“And I’ve seen her,” Wanda continued gently. “Asking about you. About us….. Around campus. Like she’s trying to find the right shape for something she’s never been brave enough to say.”

You said nothing. Couldn’t. The truth pressed heavy in your chest, stealing your breath before you even had a chance to protest “And you,” Wanda added, tipping her head with something like sympathy, “you’ve got that look in your eyes lately. Distant. Like you’re always somewhere else. Like you’re trying to remember how not to miss someone who isn’t really gone.”

You sat back slowly in your chair, fingers curling away from the note. The breath left your lungs in a tired exhale—soft, frayed at the edges. The kind of sound that didn’t quite resemble defeat, but something perilously close to surrender.

And then, softly, “I’m sorry.”

Wanda tilted her head. “For what?”

“I don’t know.” You swallowed thickly. “For still feeling something. For letting her get to me again. For not being able to stop hoping.”

Wanda reached over, placed her hand gently on top of yours “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said. “Not with me. You loved her. Maybe you still do. That doesn’t make you cruel.” You didn’t say anything else. You just sat there, eyes fixed on the handwriting beneath your fingertips, trying to convince yourself it was just ink on a page. And failing.

—————————————————————————

You were seated at the head of the long conference table in the university’s main staff hall, surrounded by colleagues from nearly every department. The another interdepartmental meeting—a logistical nightmare—was always exhausting. But today? Today you were distracted in a way that had nothing to do with curriculum updates or budget allocations.

Lilia sat two seats to your left, already sensing something was off. Jen and Alice were tucked together near the back, passing a clipboard between them and whispering under their breath like the world’s most discreet gossip channel. Wanda, steady as always, was next to you, pen poised over her notes, her eyes occasionally flickering your way.

Rio was here too, of course. Sitting perfectly poised on the other side of the room, lips pursed, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. You could feel her watching you from time to time, but you didn’t look back. You’d just been called to speak. You cleared your throat, standing with your notes in hand, palms slick with nervous energy that didn’t come from public speaking. You weren’t thinking about the faculty. You were thinking about Agatha. Your eyes scanned the room hoping to see her, but she wasn’t there yet.

Over the past several weeks, there hasn’t been one morning that you haven’t woken up to a sickeningly sweet text or two. Some reminding you to have a good day, but most on just how much she loves and appreciates you. She, true to her word was relentless. Sending notes, pastries, music, poetry, flowers even—each one worse for your heart than the last.

“For the philosophy department, I’d like to propose a revised approach to cross-disciplinary collaboration that emphasizes a more reflective framework for—”Then a voice cut in from the back of the room

“Excuse me.” It was strong. Clear. Familiar. Your blood ran cold. You turned slowly. Agatha Harkness stood in the doorway, dark coat draped over her arm, hair swept back like she hadn’t rushed here—but the wildness in her eyes said otherwise.

You could feel every person in the room turn to look at her. Conversations died mid-sentence. The university president leaned back in their chair, brows raised You blinked. “Agatha—”

She stepped forward “I know this isn’t the time,” she said, voice trembling just enough to betray how fast her heart was beating. “And I know you hate when I make things messy. But I can’t do quiet affection anymore.”

You froze. Jen sat upright, eyebrows shooting up. Alice nudged her so hard she almost dropped her tablet. Lilia’s eyes widened in horror. And Wanda—Wanda didn’t move. She just watched. Calm, but unreadable. Like she’d been waiting for this. Agatha continued “I’m irrevocably in love with you.”

The room froze—no one said anything, but the collective reaction was unmistakable. You stared at her, heart thudding in your throat “I’m sorry it took losing you to see it,” she said, her voice stronger now. “I’m sorry I let you feel like you were never chosen. That you were never enough. You were. You are.” Her eyes didn’t leave yours. “You’ve always been.”

Murmurs rippled through the room. You could feel Rio’s glare without even looking. Lilia’s mouth hung open. Alice was covering her face with both hands. Jen whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Holy shit.”

Agatha kept going “I don’t care if this is unprofessional. I don’t care if this is foolish. I’ll spend every day proving it, even if it takes the rest of my life. You told me nothing would be fixed overnight—and you’re right. But I’m not walking away again. Not now. Not ever.”

You were burning. Skin hot, ears red, every nerve in your body alight. Your heart said run to her. Your head said what the hell is happening right now? Someone in the back coughed. A few people exchanged whispers. The silence thickened again. You rubbed your temple. Your voice came out low, tired, and entirely human “What the hell are you doing?” It wasn’t cruel. Just… raw. Unsteady.

Agatha stepped forward once more “Whatever it takes,” she said. And she meant it. You could see it in the way her jaw was clenched, in the way her hands were balled into fists to stop them from shaking, in the way she looked at you—like you were the axis her world turned on.

She had done the impossible. She had made herself vulnerable, truly, and in front of every witness that mattered. She had chosen you—loudly. Undeniably. You stood there in the dead center of a full room, feeling more exposed than you ever had in your life.

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to feel. Wanda gently reached over and touched your arm, as if reminding you she was still there. Still beside you. Not pressuring. Just present. And even Rio, across the room, had fallen eerily quiet—her expression unreadable for once.

All eyes were on you. And all you could think was: Is this really fucking happening? Agatha Harkness had set the room on fire for you. And now the whole world was watching to see if you’d step into the flames. Your skin burned. Not just your cheeks—your entire body. From the base of your neck to the tips of your ears. You could feel the heat crawling up your spine, tight and suffocating like your own pulse was punishing you for staying still.

Every eye was still on you. You swallowed, lips parting like maybe a response would come, but nothing did. The silence was excruciating. Endless. Then, mercifully—A voice. One of the senior administrators stood and cleared their throat in that awkward, bureaucratic way that screamed damage control.

“Well,” they began, smiling too widely as their gaze darted nervously between you and Agatha, “thank you for that… spirited moment of honesty, Professor Harkness. Let’s go ahead and wrap up today’s meeting, shall we? Department heads, we’ll follow up next week on remaining items via email.”

You didn’t wait to be dismissed. You were already slinging your bag over your shoulder before the words had finished leaving their mouth. Your breath came fast, shallow, like your body had gone into flight mode without asking permission. As you turned sharply toward the exit, your hand reached out without thinking—fingers curling around the edge of Agatha’s sleeve.

You didn’t even look at her. You just dragged her with you. Gasps and whispers followed. You could feel them more than you heard them. Lilia’s muttered “Jesus Christ.” Alice whispering a “Go get her” under her breath. And Wanda— You didn’t even want to know what Wanda was thinking.

Your fingers didn’t release Agatha’s sleeve until you burst through the double doors at the far end of the hall. The cool air of the corridor hit your face, but it did nothing to calm you. You dropped her sleeve , she stumbled slightly behind you but didn’t stop.

“(Y/N)?” Agatha’s voice was uncertain now. Less sure. “Where are we—?” But you didn’t answer. You just kept walking. Fast. Determined. Past bulletin boards and closed doors and startled colleagues peeking out of their offices. You didn’t stop until you reached your own office door.

You flung it open with more force than necessary, storming inside. The space was warm, cluttered, familiar. Books stacked in uneven piles. A half-drunk mug of tea still on your desk. Papers scattered like leaves across every surface. You threw your bag onto your desk with a heavy thud, the strap knocking over a pen holder as it landed. Agatha lingered in the doorway behind you.

Still.

Silent.

Waiting.

You turned on her then. Slowly. The air between you heavy, electric, and almost unbearable. And for a long, painful moment—You just looked at her. Like you were still trying to decide if she was real. If this was real. If the woman who had once made you feel like you were asking for too much was really the same woman who just declared her love in front of half the university.

You stood there, facing her, chest still rising and falling too quickly. Hands clenched at your sides like they didn’t know what to do now that the storm had moved inside the room. Your lips parted. “I—” But Agatha moved first.

She stepped forward quickly, quietly—shutting the door behind her with a soft click that sealed the space between you and the rest of the world. The echo of it was louder than it had any right to be. She took another step toward you, slow and cautious, like you were a wild thing she was afraid of spooking. You flinched slightly at her closeness but didn’t back away. Not this time. She lifted a hand—not to touch, but to steady herself—and whispered “I’m so sorry baby.”

The words hung there. Simple. Soft. But weighted with everything she hadn’t said for months “I’m sorry I didn’t choose you when it mattered most,” she continued, her voice trembling now. “I was so caught up in fixing the past that I didn’t see the future standing right in front of me.”

You stared at her, every muscle in your body pulled tight, like you were waiting to fall or fly “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” she said. “But I did. And then I told myself it was safer to keep things quiet. To keep you quiet. Because the truth is, I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. And that terrified me.”

Your heart clenched. She took one more step forward. Her hands were shaking now. “You made me feel… seen. Held. Real. And I threw that away chasing closure that didn’t matter anymore.” You looked away for a moment, jaw tight, trying to gather every defense you’d built brick by brick.

But her next words cracked them clean open “I never looked at Rio the way I looked at you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I was with her again, all I could think was, why doesn’t it feel the way it used to. Why doesn’t this feel right? How was it possible that you’d only sit beside me in silence and still make me feel more than she ever could with words?”

You blinked quickly, throat burning. Your eyes stung, and you hated how easily the emotion cracked through “And now I’ve embarrassed you,” she added with a soft, sad smile. “In front of everyone. Because I couldn’t keep pretending not to feel what I feel.”

You swallowed thickly. “Agatha…” She stepped even closer now, hands still not touching you—but her presence was overwhelming “I love you,” she said again, like the first time wasn’t enough. “I love you in a way that terrifies me. But I will learn how to love you in a way that never makes you question it again.”

You didn’t respond. Not right away. You didn’t know how to. Because your heart… your heart was melting. And it hurt. It hurt because it was real. Because this wasn’t some flippant apology or half-meant attempt to win you back. This was Agatha. Really Agatha. Standing in front of you with her armor off, her voice shaking, her pride left somewhere back in that conference room. And somehow, even after all this time, she still knew the exact words that could unravel you.

It hit you all at once. The weight of her words. The way she stood there trembling, eyes glassy and voice raw with truth. The silence that had dragged between you for months suddenly shattered under the force of something you’d tried so hard to ignore. You opened your mouth to reply—but nothing came out. Nothing could come out. The ache had climbed too far up your throat. Then, like a dam breaking, a soft whimper escaped you—barely a sound, really. Just breath caught on grief and longing and relief.

And before you even realized what you were doing, you moved. You crashed into her like gravity had finally won. Your hands fisted the lapels of her coat, dragging her down to you with a desperation that had been years in the making. Agatha gasped softly, caught between surprise and instinct, before her arms came around you in an instant—holding you like she was terrified you’d disappear. Your noses bumped, your breaths tangled, and then—She kissed you. And you kissed her back. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.

It was everything you’d both been too afraid to say. It was breathless and aching, desperate and unrefined. Her lips were warm, trembling against yours, like she couldn’t believe this was happening. Like she was terrified you’d change your mind mid-kiss. Your fingers slid into her coat, clutching at her shoulders, her back, her hair—anything that would pull her closer.

Agatha cupped your face in her hands, thumbs brushing tears you didn’t even realize had started to fall. Her mouth moved against yours like she was pouring every unsent email, every unsaid apology, every late-night memory into it. She kissed you like she was claiming something that was never hers to take for granted. You kissed her like you were finally letting go of all the pain. And in that moment, neither of you breathed—afraid even that would make it vanish. When you finally pulled back, your foreheads stayed pressed together. Both of you panting, eyes closed, lost in the space between now and what comes next “I still don’t completely trust you,” you whispered, voice hoarse, breath brushing against her lips. “But I want to.”

Agatha’s eyes opened. There was no fear in them now. Only something fierce. Steady “I’ll earn it,” she swore. “Every day. Every damn inch.”

You held her gaze, fingers still curled into her coat. The world outside your office might’ve still been reeling, gossiping, whispering about the scene she caused, but in here—it was just the two of you “…If you’re going to leave me again,” you said quietly, eyes guarded “don’t you dare fucking come back—”

Agatha’s expression shifted. Her grip on your waist tightened, anchoring you to her chest, her heartbeat racing against yours “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, voice fierce and clear, like a vow. “Not without you.” And this time… you almost believed her.

You stared at her, breath still uneven, heart rattling like it didn’t know how to settle inside your chest. Agatha’s eyes were locked on yours—wide, dark, shining. Her hands still cupped your face, fingertips trembling as if she was afraid to let go, afraid this whole thing might dissolve if she so much as blinked. And then she kissed you again.

No hesitation this time. No permission asked. Just need. You gasped softly into her mouth, arms instinctively rising to loop around her neck, fingers tangling in the ends of her hair. She groaned low against your lips, the sound vibrating through you like a spark igniting something deep in your stomach. Her hands slipped from your face, down to your waist, gripping you tighter like she could pull you closer—closer still—until there wasn’t even space for doubt between you. She kissed you like she was trying to make you remember her. Not the version who broke your heart—but the one who knew how to worship it.

It was intense. Fierce. Possessive. You barely registered her moving, only that your body was suddenly shifting—guided. Her hands pressed against your lower back as she walked you back, step by step, until the edge of your desk bumped against the backs of your thighs. You pulled back just long enough to look at her, lips swollen, chest rising and falling fast “Agatha—”

“Shhh,” she whispered, eyes dark with heat and something deeper. Something reverent. “Let me show you.” And then she lifted you. Just like that. Her hands curled under your thighs and hoisted you up with surprising ease, setting you down on the edge of your desk. Papers crumpled beneath you. A pen clattered to the floor. But you didn’t care. You couldn’t. Because she was kissing you again—deeper this time. Hungrier. Like she’d been starved for the taste of you and was only now realizing how much she’d missed.

Her hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to her like you might try to leave again. And maybe she didn’t blame you. But this? This was her proving something. To you. To herself. To the version of her that had let you slip away. You clutched at the front of her coat, yanking her impossibly closer, your legs bracketing her hips instinctively as you pressed into the kiss like it was the only thing keeping you upright. She pulled back for just a breath, forehead pressing into yours, lips brushing. Her voice was wrecked “I should’ve done this months ago…”

Your hands moved to her collar, thumbs stroking along her neck. “You didn’t. But you’re here now.”

Agatha nodded, jaw tightening. “And I’m never letting you forget it again.” She surged forward, capturing your mouth once more—this time slower but no less consuming. Like she was claiming every inch of space she’d once given up. Like she needed you to know: this time, there would be no halfway.

Only everything. She didn’t give you a chance to breathe. Not that you wanted her to. Agatha kissed you like her life depended on it—like if she stopped, you might vanish again. Her hands never stilled, slipping beneath your coat, gripping your hips with a pressure that sent sparks straight through your spine. You arched into her without thinking, your fingers tugging at her collar, pulling her closer until there was nothing but heat and heartbeat and the ragged rhythm of your mouths colliding again and again.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, and Agatha groaned into you—low and wrecked and full of a hunger you’d only ever dreamed she might feel for you. It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t soft. This was months of repression, of longing, of wrong timing and broken chances, spilling out all at once.

Her lips trailed down to your jaw, then your throat, her breath hot against your skin as she whispered your name like a prayer. You gasped, nails dragging lightly down her back. She bit back a moan, her hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your coat open as she kissed her way back to your mouth, taking it with a fire that made your whole body ache.

You didn’t even know when your hands slipped beneath her sweater, but you needed to feel her—her skin, her warmth, the solidity of her being here, finally, now “God,” you breathed between kisses. “You—Agatha—”

“I know,” she whispered, forehead pressed to yours, her voice shaking. “I know. I missed you too.” You kissed her again. Hard. And she kissed you back like she was trying to carve her name into your bones. And you let her. Because for the first time, she wasn’t kissing you in secret. She wasn’t holding back. She was here. Present. Wanting. Yours. Her coat had slipped down her shoulders, your legs locked around her waist as her hands explored your waist, your ribs, anything she could reach.

The desk creaked under your shifting weight, but neither of you noticed. Her teeth grazed your bottom lip and you gasped—only for her to chase the sound like it belonged to her. You didn’t want to stop. Not when she felt this good. Not when her mouth made you forget the ache she’d caused. Eventually—reluctantly—you pulled back. Breathing hard, your fingers still tangled in the fabric at her waist, your lips swollen, flushed, dazed.

Agatha looked at you like she was lost in a dream. Her lips were kiss-bruised, pupils blown wide, her hands still resting on your thighs as if she didn’t quite trust this moment wouldn’t dissolve between heartbeats. You brushed your nose against hers, trying to slow the rush of it all. You let the silence fall between you for a beat—just long enough to ground yourself in what this really was “This doesn’t fix everything,” you said softly, voice still trembling. “We’re not… whole. Not yet.”

Agatha nodded slowly, her fingers squeezing gently at your hips. “I know.”

You licked your lips, still tasting her. “But maybe… maybe we can build something better. Not perfect. Just… real.” Her gaze locked onto yours, and something softened behind her eyes. Not sadness. Not regret. Just hope.

“Real sounds like everything I’ve ever wanted,” she said. You rested your forehead against hers again, your hands finally stilling where they curled at the sides of her neck. You both stayed like that—breathing each other in, hearts pounding, clothes rumpled, promises unspoken but understood.

This wasn’t the end. It was the beginning. And this time, it wasn’t a false start. It was something new. Something earned.

The next morning felt… strange. Not in a bad way. Not exactly. Just heightened. Like the air around you had shifted. Like the world had tilted a few degrees off center, and now you were watching everything from a slightly different angle.

Agatha had left your office late the night before. Late enough that the hallways were empty. Late enough that neither of you had to face the lingering stares—yet. You hadn’t talked much after. Just sat together, curled up in the quiet aftermath, her hand resting over yours on the desk like she was still afraid you might pull away.

You didn’t.

But now?

Now it was daylight. Now it was real. And the university hadn’t forgotten what it saw. Not when your inbox had three unread messages by 7 a.m., all vaguely worded inquiries from staff members wondering if you were “alright” or “needed time.” Not when Lilia sent you a single line of text—“I support you. I also might murder her if she hurts you again.” And certainly not when you walked into the faculty lounge and every single head turned.

You paused in the doorway, gripping your mug a little too tightly. Agatha was already there, seated at the long table near the back. She looked up when she sensed you, and for a moment—just a flicker—you saw uncertainty in her eyes. But then she smiled. Small. Tentative. Real. And you smiled back. It wasn’t dramatic. You didn’t cross the room and kiss her. You didn’t drop your things and run to her side. But you walked over. Sat down across from her. Took a sip of your coffee. Her fingers brushed yours beneath the table, barely a touch. You didn’t pull away. That was enough for now.

Later that week, Wanda dropped by your office. She didn’t say much at first—just leaned against the doorframe, watching you grade papers with that quiet, knowing calm she always carried. You looked up, smiled cautiously “I didn’t expect you to still check in on me considering….”

Wanda tilted her head. “I didn’t come to check in.” You arched a brow “I came to make sure that you’re happy,” she said.

Your breath caught. But you nodded “It’s… new. Fragile. But yeah. I think I am. ”

She gave a soft smile. “Good. She’s fighting for you now. Don’t let her forget to keep doing that.” And then she was gone, leaving you with a warmth in your chest you didn’t know how to name. Wanda truly was a remarkable woman, she helped heal something in you. You’re just sorry she wasn’t the remarkable woman your heart desired.

Lunch with Alice and Jen was a little different that day as well “That was possibly the most dramatic workplace confession I’ve ever witnessed,” Alice said around a bite of her sandwich. “Ten out of ten for entertainment. Subtracting one point for public humiliation though...”

Jen grinned. “I gave her credit for not crying. Or begging. She kept it just on the right side of tragic romantic comedy.”

You groaned. “Can we not do this now or ever?”

“We love you,” Alice said, bumping your knee under the table. “And we just want to make sure you know what you’re doing.” You did. You were still figuring it out. But yes—you knew. Agatha was more cautious now. Every glance she gave you in the hallway came with a question in her eyes. Every shared meeting, every brief moment between classes—she made space for you to decide what this was, what you wanted it to be.

She didn’t push. She didn’t perform. She just showed up. Consistently. Quietly. The way you always wished she had before. When your hands brushed in the lounge, she didn’t yank away. When you laughed at something she said during a meeting, she smiled like it meant everything.

The whispers died down eventually. People always moved on. But your story didn’t go back to what it was before. And that was the point. It grew into something different. Something gentler. Slower. Deliberate. Agatha brought you coffee most mornings. You never asked—she just remembered. You sent her poems again. Slipped under her door like they used to be. You ate lunch together twice a week, sometimes in silence, sometimes with laughter.

It was rebuilding. In inches, not miles. But this time, the foundation was better. Because now, every choice was made with clarity. With care. Not fear. Not guilt. Just want. And that? That was enough. That was everything. It had only been a few weeks since her very public display. Just long enough for the chaos to settle. Just long enough for the gossip to fade into the background, for people to stop pausing when you walked into a room, for Rio to stop pretending she wasn’t still irritated by the entire spectacle.

And in that time, Agatha had been… everything. Attentive without being overbearing. Present without pressure. She never asked for more than you could give, but she always gave more than you expected. Her affection came in quiet gestures—warm drinks slid into your hand during early meetings, scribbled notes tucked into your books, half-sarcastic, half-sincere texts late at night that made you smile even when you didn’t want to.

She was learning. You both were. And somewhere between the surprise lunches and the shared office hours, somewhere between stolen kisses behind closed doors and whispered apologies in passing—You realized you were in trouble. Because it was getting harder to pretend you weren’t head over heels in love with her. Not when she looked at you like you held the entire sky in your eyes. Not when she touched you with reverence, like she was still amazed you let her at all. Not when she said your name like it meant something holy. You hadn’t said it yet. I love you. Not back.

Not out loud. But you felt it. Every time she held your hand across the center console while she drove you home. Every time she waited outside your office just to walk you to the lounge. Every time she looked at you like you were still her favorite secret—even now that the world knew.

And it was making you reckless. You caught yourself staring more often. Letting your fingers linger just a second too long on her arm. Smiling at her with something softer than you meant to reveal. Letting your guard slip piece by piece. You tried to hide it. To keep some part of yourself tucked away in case this still fell apart. But when she leaned against the doorway of your office one Friday evening, holding a little box of your favorite chocolates, her hair tied back in a loose waves, exhaustion in her eyes—your heart ached with just how much you loved her.

She stepped inside like she’d done it a hundred times, closing the door behind her, dropping the box on your desk before sitting on the edge of it “I figured you’d need a bribe if I was going to steal you away from work tonight.”

You raised a brow. “Steal me?”

She shrugged, leaning closer, voice low and teasing. “Kidnap. Woo. Spirit away. You can pick the language. I’m flexible.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Agatha grinned, but then—her expression shifted. Softened. “But I mean it. I want time with you. Not as an apology. Not as a fix. Just as… us.” Something in your chest squeezed. You stood slowly, rounding the desk until you were standing between her legs, her knees brushing your hips.

She looked up at you like she didn’t dare breathe. And you—God, you wanted to say it. You love her. But instead, you cupped her jaw gently, brushing your thumb over the corner of her mouth, and said, “I’m already yours. You don’t have to steal me.”

Her breath hitched. Her hands found your hips. You leaned in. Let your forehead rest against hers. And though the words sat right on the edge of your lips, you still didn’t say them. Not yet. But you were close. You didn’t even get to argue. The second your laptop closed, Agatha was already tugging your coat off the back of your chair and draping it over your shoulders like she’d been planning this for days. Her hands lingered at your collar. Her smile was bright, but the look in her eyes? That was something else entirely.

Something hopeful. Something deliberate “Come on,” she said softly, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’ve been working too much. And I’ve got reservations I may or may not have bribed someone for.”

You blinked. “You made reservations?”

Agatha smirked, leaning in to whisper against your ear. “It’s called courting. Let me romance you, please darling.”

You flushed. “I—okay.” And just like that, you let her take your hand and guide you out of your office, down the long corridor, past whatever mess still lingered in the whispers of your colleagues. You didn’t care. Not with her fingers intertwined with yours. Not when she looked at you like this.

Dinner was stunning. The kind of place with soft candlelight flickering off crystal glassware, live jazz humming through hidden speakers, and a panoramic window view of the city skyline. Agatha had requested a table near the edge, just slightly tucked away, as if she wanted to show you off without making a scene.

She was effortless—her blazer sharp, her perfume warm and clean, her gaze never straying from you for long. And you… you spent most of the meal falling apart inside because she kept saying things like “Do you remember our first joint lecture? You made me look like I had a soul.” Or— “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who makes me feel this grounded.” And then the worst of them, whispered low as her hand brushed yours across the table “You make me want things I thought I couldn’t have anymore.”

By the time dessert came—some soft, elegant thing layered in chocolate and berry—you were certain your heart was no longer in your chest but somewhere at her mercy, resting between your empty wine glass and her folded napkin. But the night wasn’t over “I have one more surprise,” she said as you walked outside, cool air curling around the collar of your coat.

You gave her a look. “You’re spoiling me.”

She lifted your hand to her lips, kissed your knuckles. “That’s the plan.”

She led you to a nearby private elevator with a keycard she definitely shouldn’t have had access to—but knowing Agatha, she could charm just about anything out of anyone. When the doors opened at the top floor, she stepped aside with a slight bow “After you.”

You stepped onto the rooftop and your breath caught. The city stretched out in every direction, glittering and alive beneath the stars. String lights wrapped around the edge of the railing, flickering like fireflies, and a soft breeze tugged at your coat as you walked forward, stunned “Agatha…”

She came up behind you, wrapping her arms gently around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder. “I used to come up here when I needed space. To think. To remember who I was.” You leaned back against her, heart already aching “But lately,” she continued, her voice softer now, “I come up here to think about the future.”

You turned slightly, just enough to look at her. “Yeah?”

She smiled, almost shy. “I’ve been thinking about what it might look like… if you were always in it.” You froze. Her eyes searched yours. “Not just this. Not just now. I mean something bigger. Permanent.” A pause. “Lifelong.”

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. The words slipped out before you could pull them back, before fear could catch up “I love you.” Agatha’s breath hitched. Your heart felt like it had burst open in your chest. You blinked, lips parting, because you hadn’t even planned to say it. But it was true. God, it was so true “I love you,” you said again, quieter this time, eyes shimmering.

Agatha’s hand cupped your cheek so gently, it nearly undid you. She didn’t say anything for a moment—just stared at you like you’d rewired the stars. Then she kissed you. And this kiss was different. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It wasn’t tangled in grief or longing or guilt.

It was full.

Whole.

Loving.

When she pulled back, her voice was thick with emotion “I love you too. I’ve never been more certain of anything.” You rested your forehead against hers, your fingers tangled in the lapel of her coat, and for the first time since everything began—You felt like the story was finally beginning. And this time, it was yours to write together.

You didn’t pull away. Not after the kiss. Not after the way she said it—I love you too—like it was the only truth that had ever mattered. Instead, you leaned in closer brushing your nose against her own, your breath still shaky from everything that had just been said “Say it again,” you whispered, voice low, almost daring.

Agatha’s lips curled. “I love you too.”

You didn’t let her finish the breath after it.

You kissed her—hard. It was different from the tenderness before. This kiss was heat and hunger, the kind that rolled up from somewhere low in your stomach and took over completely. You grabbed the front of her coat, tugging her closer with a force that had her stumbling forward with a breathless laugh against your mouth. Her hands were on your waist immediately, gripping through the fabric of your coat like she didn’t care you were still out in the open air, surrounded by string lights and stars and the city humming beneath your feet.

You deepened the kiss, your body pressing fully against hers, and she melted into you without hesitation—like kissing you was something she was born to do. Agatha pulled back just slightly, lips brushing yours, her voice a rough, teasing whisper. “If you keep kissing me like that, I’m going to forget we’re on a rooftop.”

“Good,” you murmured, catching her bottom lip between your teeth before you let it go. “Because I’m very much done being on this rooftop.”

She blinked at you, pupils blown, breath catching. “Yeah?”

You nodded slowly, fingers sliding down the front of her coat. “Let’s go. Now.” Agatha didn’t need to be told twice.

She laced her fingers with yours, pressing one last kiss to your cheek, and with a smirk that promised trouble—the kind you’d dreamed about for years—she whispered “Your place or mine then?”

You smirked back “Whichever’s closer.” The moment you both slid into the car, it was clear: keeping your hands to yourselves wasn’t going to happen.

Agatha had barely fastened her seatbelt before you leaned over the console and pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, just below her jaw—slow, lingering. She let out a sharp breath, fingers tightening on the steering wheel “You’re going to make me crash,” she muttered, half warning, half prayer.

You grinned, brushing your lips over the shell of her ear. “Then drive faster.”

She did. The city blurred past, lights streaking through the windows like stars in motion, but neither of you could focus. Your hand never left her thigh, your fingers teasing slow circles over the fabric of her slacks. She kept sneaking glances your way, her jaw clenched, breathing uneven—like she was using every last bit of control to keep from pulling over and dragging you into the back seat.

You couldn’t stop touching her, kissing her knuckles when she reached for the gearshift. Tugging on the collar of her coat to pull her toward you at red lights, nipping her bottom lip teasingly between each slow kiss. By the time she pulled into her building’s parking garage, she was visibly shaking “You’re a damn menace,” she said, voice dark and rough as she threw the car in park.

You just smirked and leaned across the console one last time. “And you love it.” Getting upstairs was a blur. She didn’t even bother pretending to be patient. Her hand was locked around yours from the moment you stepped into the elevator, and when the doors finally opened on her floor, she yanked you down the hallway with a kind of focused urgency that had your knees going weak.

And when the door clicked open—barely, just barely—Agatha was already pushing you inside. The door slammed shut behind you. And then she had you. She pinned you against it before you could say a word, her mouth crashing onto yours with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. You gasped into her, and she swallowed the sound greedily, her hands already fisting in your coat, yanking it open with impatient fingers.

“You drive me insane,” she muttered between kisses, one hand pressing flat to your waist, the other sliding up to cradle your jaw. “Do you know what it’s been like—watching you, wanting you—and not being allowed to touch you like this?”

Your only answer was a moan as she pressed harder into you, her thigh sliding between yours, your hands scrambling at the button of her slacks with all the subtlety of someone on the edge of ruin. You broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Then stop waisting time.”

Agatha’s eyes burned—lit with something hungry and possessive and worshipful all at once “Oh, I have no intention of waiting anymore.” She kissed you again—deeper, hotter—her body molding to yours as if trying to prove every promise she’d made on that rooftop with the press of her mouth and the drag of her hands. Her teeth caught your bottom lip and you gasped, legs tightening around her thigh where it slotted between yours.

Whatever came next, whatever words were still waiting to be said, could wait. Right now? She was going to make up for lost time. Clothes hit the floor in pieces—buttons popped, shoes kicked off in a stumbling blur of mouths and hands and half-choked laughter between kisses that never stayed gentle for long. Agatha guided you backward down the hallway, lips never leaving yours, her hands greedy and unrelenting as they skimmed over skin she’d once only dreamed of touching again.

By the time your back hit her bed, you were breathless. Dizzy. Her name fell from your lips like a plea. She crawled over you slowly, like she was savoring it. Like this moment had been carved out of time just for her to memorize every part of you all over again. Her eyes were dark with desire, yes—but behind it, something more reverent. Tender.

“You’re even more beautiful now that I’m allowed to keep you,” she whispered, pressing a trail of kisses down your collarbone, her fingers dancing down your ribs, teasing your skin until you arched into her touch with a gasp. Your hands found her back, fingers dragging down until she shivered above you.

“You always had me,” you murmured, pulling her down into another kiss. “You just didn’t know what to do with it.” Agatha growled softly into your mouth, one of her hands sliding between your thighs teasingly.

You inhale sharply as her touch ignites your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Your eyes darken with desire, gaze boring into hers with an intensity that steals her breath. She shivers under the weight of your stare, heart hammering wildly in her chest.

"Show me," you breathe, voice heavy with want. Your hands skim back up her sides, settling on the dip of her waist. She inhales sharply, arching into your touch. Free hand roaming greedily over your chest, tracing the curve of your breast, committing them to memory.

She leans down, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I'm going to take my time with you," she whispers, her voice low and sultry, dripping with unspoken promises. "I want to taste every inch of you. Make you feel things you've never felt before."

Her tongue traces the lobe of your ear, drawing a shuddering breath from you. Your fingers dig into the soft flesh of her hips, urging her closer. She chuckles softly, a sound of pure sin and sweet seduction. "All night long," she purrs. "Until the only name you remember... is mine."

Then she kisses you. And it's not gentle. It's hungry. It's impatient. It's everything you've been craving since the moment you walked through her door. It's a promise of pleasure. A guarantee of completeness. A vow of eternal, unforgettable devotion. It's everything you've ever wanted. Everything you'll ever need. You hummed into the kiss hips snapping forward, you could feel yourself growing wet “ please—”

Agatha's head dips, her lips trailing down your neck, over the slope of your shoulder. Your skin prickles with heat and anticipation. She inhales, breathing in your scent, a mix of desire and desperation "I know," she murmurs against your skin. "I can feel it."

Her hand slips further between your thighs, fingers gliding over your slick folds. They dip inside, stroking your inner walls, curling and pressing against that sensitive spot that makes your toes curl "Look at you baby," she coos softly, almost reverently. "So wet for me. So ready." She circles your clit with the pads of two fingers, teasing the swollen bud. Your hips buck upwards, chasing her touch. Wanting more.

"Yes, you need this, don't you?" Agatha whispers. "You need me to fill up this pretty little pussy." Her thumb flicks over your clit, a hard, fast, intense press. You cry out at the sudden jolt of pleasure, hands fisting in the sheets beneath you as you but you lip stifling a whimper.

"Don't hold back, baby. I want to hear you." Her fingers pump faster, the obscene sound of your arousal echoing through the room. Her palm grinds against your clit with each thrust, the pressure building, your climax chasing faster than before. Your thighs tremble on either side of her hips, every inch of you drawn taut and coiled, waiting, yearning, craving...

"Please," you whimper brokenly, your grip tightening on the sheets, nails digging into the fabric. "Please baby, I need... I need..."

"I know." Agatha's voice is a low murmur against your ear. Triumphant. Assured. "I know exactly what you need, sweetheart." And then she pushes two fingers deep inside you, curling against that hidden spot, grinding against it ruthlessly. Her thumb presses down hard on your clit, rubbing unmerciful circles around the sensitive bud.

Your climax hits you with the force of a tidal wave, crashing over you, drowning you. You scream her name like a prayer, like a mantra, like the only word you know how to say. Your vision goes white as ecstasy pulses through every nerve ending, your body shaking and jerking in her grasp.

She holds you through it, murmuring praise and adoration, stroking you down as you float back to yourself. When you finally open your eyes, sated and sleepy, she's watching you with a soft, tender smile "That's my good girl," she whispers, brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead. " My everything."

You whimper softly, hips grinding helplessly against Agatha's hand as a powerful climax crashes through you like a tidal wave. "Please... I need more," you beg, your voice raw and broken as ecstasy pulses through every nerve ending, every cell in your body screaming for more of her touch.

Agatha doesn't hesitate. She continues pumping her fingers deep inside you, curling them hard against your spasming walls, stroking you with ruthless precision as you ride out the aftershocks of your release. At the same time, leaning down and closing her mouth around one of your nipples, suckling greedily, hissing softly as you buck against her touch.

You can feel her fingers slick with your arousal, dripping with your need as she thrusts them in and out of your fluttering channel, fucking you through your orgasm until you're writhing against the sheets, mewling helplessly as overstimulation threatens to overload your senses “Whatever you need my love—," Agatha whispered breathlessly as she releases your nipple with a sharp nip, continuing the path down you torso. Her free hand grips your hip, spreading your thighs wider to slip down and position herself comfortably between them, opening you up fully to her relentless touch. "I want to feel you fall apart sweetheart. I want to taste you come undone like only I can make you do..."

She leaned down sealing her lips around your clit, suckling hard as her fingers drive into you, pounding your sensitive flesh. The sensation is overwhelming, the pleasure so intense that it borders on pain. But you don't want her to stop. You never want her to stop "Yes, yes, yes!" you chant deliriously, fingers clawing at your own hair as you arch your back, pressing your chest against her mouth. "More, please more..."

Agatha doesn't let up, her fingers plunging deep as her tongue swirls and flickers over your swollen clit. She's determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body, to push you past the limits of endurance until all you can do is feel the raw, electric pulse of your own pleasure.

She can feel your walls starting to flutter around her fingers, your body tensing as another climax builds deep in your core. She moans against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pure bliss radiating outward from your throbbing sex "That's it, baby..." Agatha breathes, pressing a kiss to your clit before releasing it from the hot prison of her mouth. "You're going to come for me again, sweetheart” she whispered almost commandingly “I need to hear you scream my name..."

Her fingers drive up into you, hard and fast and deep. The heel of her palm grinds against your clit as she feels your body start to seize, to clamp down and squeeze her fingers. "Now, baby. Give it to me now," Agatha demands, and you have no choice but to obey. Your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in sensation, ravaging you with the force of your pleasure.

Your scream echoes off the walls, reverberating through the room like a war cry, a demand, a desperate plea. You writhe and convulse beneath Agatha as she milks your climax for every Agatha continues her relentless assault, lapping and suckling at your gushing, twitching sex until the last waves of your climax subside. She doesn't stop until your hips start to rock into her touch once more, craving more of that sweet friction, that exquisite pressure.

Pressing a final, possessive kiss to your sensitive flesh, Agatha trail her lips up your thigh, pressing nip after nip into the delicate skin. Each bite sends a fresh spark of arousal through you, stoking the embers of your desire back into a raging inferno. Rising languidly from the bed, Agatha saunters over to the dresser, her hips swaying with a seductive rhythm. She pauses for the briefest of moments before reaching into the bottom drawer, pulling out a vibrant purple strap, larger than anything you’ve used on yourself most definitely.

Her eyes clash with yours, burning with a hunger that steals your breath. You bite your lip, nodding softly as you spread your thighs wider in clear invitation, a silent plea for her to take you, claim you, fill you... complete you. Agatha groans deeply at the sight of you splayed out before her, a carnal offering awaiting her touch. "Fuck, baby. Look at you. So gorgeous. So perfect..."

Within moments, she has the harness secured snug around her hips, the thick cock protruding obscenely from her waist. Your eyes widen and a shudder wracks down your body as she stalks back towards you. Mounting the bed, she settles between your thighs, the thick head of the toy nudging against your slick, swollen entrance.

Ducking her head, Agatha swallows your gasp of anticipation with a deep, claiming kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth, tangling with yours. As she kisses you, she rolls her hips forward just once, pushing slowly into your welcoming heat. Your back arches at the exquisite stretch, the delicious pressure of being filled, claimed, taken. You can feel every rigid inch of the toy as it parts your walls, delving deeper, reaching higher, stroking your most sensitive places.

"You feel that, baby?" Agatha whispers when she breaks the kiss, her lips brushing yours. "Feel me stretching this perfect little cunt? Making her mine?" She punctuates her words with a subtle thrust of her hips, driving the strap-on a little deeper, a little harder. Your walls flutter and squeeze around the firm length, drawing her in, begging her to fill you utterly.

"Yes—" you gasped eyes rolling back, nails digging into her back, anchoring her to you. "Yes, I feel it. It's so big. It's...ah! Fuck—"

Agatha smirks at your breathless praise, a wicked glint in her eye. "That's it, sweetheart. This pussy was made to be stretched by me. Made to be stuffed full of my cock, again and again..." She starts to move then, rolling her hips in a slow, steady rhythm. The toy drags along your walls with each thrust, stroking your sweet spots, igniting sparks of pleasure that build and grow and consume you from within.

Your head falls back against the bed, a pillow of tangled hair and sweat-sheened skin, as Agatha begins to thrust with purpose, each drive of her hips a claiming motion intent on owning every inch of your most intimate space "Oh fuck!" you cry out, voice breaking on a whimper of pure, unadulterated pleasure. "So fuckin' deep..."

You can feel the strap-on delving into you, splitting you open, reaching places no one else ever has. It's a delicious invasion, a beautiful claiming, a relentless pressure that borders on pain but brings only ecstasy. Your hips rise to meet hers, matching her fervor, her desire, your body desperate to be filled, to be used for her pleasure. The room fills with the symphony of your coupling - the slap of skin on skin, the slick glide of the toy plunging into your dripping sex, your wanton cries and breathless moans.

"That's it, baby," Agatha pants, braced above you, her hair a wild halo around her flushed face, "Take it . Take every fuckin' inch..." She leans down to capture your nipple between her teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you jerk and clench around the thick length spearing you open. The sensation is overwhelming, pleasure and pain blending into a heady cocktail that sets your nerves alight.

Your hands claw at her back, nails raking down the sweat-slicked flesh as your body bucks and writhes beneath the force of her thrusts. You can feel yourself losing control, succumbing to the sheer, primal bliss of being possessed so utterly, you wailed, walls starting to flutter and clench around the plunging length as your climax builds at the base of your spine. "Harder baby, fuck me harder..."

Agatha complies with a dark chuckle, slamming into you with renewed vigor. The bed creaks and shakes with the force of her thrusts, slamming against the wall as she takes you with wild abandon "You want it harder?" she growls, the words vibrating through you. "You want me to ruin this hungry little cunt?"

"Yes, fuck yes!" you scream, too lost in sensation to care how desperate you sound. "Ruin me, baby. Fuckin' wreck me..." Your climax hits you like a freight train, tearing through you, shattering you from the inside out. Your vision goes white, your scream echoes off the walls as ecstasy crashes over you in overwhelming waves. Your sex clamps down rhythmically, squeezing and milking the strap-on as your orgasm rips you apart, chest heaving and breasts bouncing with each powerful clench.

Agatha slows her thrusts to a languid, sensual pace as she feels your walls start to flutter and quiver around her pulling her deeper, your climax building to a fever pitch. She wants to savor this moment, to linger in the exquisite feeling of your body yielding to her touch, accepting her completely. Leaning down, she claims your mouth in a slow, deep kiss, her tongue languidly stroking yours as she rocks into you one last time before slowly, reluctantly pulling out.

You gasp softly into her mouth, a hiss escaping your lips as you feel the loss of her, the emptiness inside you a stark contrast to the pleasure still coursing through your veins.

Agatha slips off the bed, your slick dripping down your thighs and onto the rumpled sheets. She makes quick work of unfastening the strap-on, tossing it carelessly to the floor before striding towards the bathroom, her lithe form a study in sin and satisfaction.

She returns a moment later with a small, damp washcloth, the fabric cool and soothing in her hands. Sitting back down between your trembling thighs, Agatha starts to clean your soft flesh, gentling you down from your erotic high with a tender touch.

You shiver as the cool cloth brushes over your sensitive sex, your skin still hot and aching from your intense coupling. But the sensation is also soothing, the knowledge that she cares for you, for your pleasure and your comfort, in a way that no one else ever has "That's my girl," she murmurs softly as she wipes away the last traces of your climax, the last remnants of her claim on your body. "Such a beautiful girl, so responsive, so perfect..."

Setting the washcloth aside, Agatha leans forward to press a single, reverent kiss to the apex of your thighs, the meet of your sex. Her lips linger there, breathing in the scent of your arousal, your pleasure, searing it into her memory. Then she's climbing back into bed beside you, pulling you into her arms, cradling your trembling body against her own. Her hands stroke down your sides, soothing the last little flutters and twitches from your climax.

You lay tangled in her sheets—limbs draped over limbs, hearts pounding slower now but still synced. Agatha’s arm was tucked under your head, her other hand tracing idle shapes along your spine. The moonlight through the curtains cast soft shadows across her bare shoulder, her lips swollen and parted, breath evening out.

You were both drifting, on the edge of sleep, but still tethered by the press of warm skin and the taste of lazy kisses passed back and forth without thought You shifted slightly, your nose brushing hers. “So… this is what making up looks like?”

Agatha hummed, pressing a barely-there kiss to your cheek. “Only the beginning.” You smiled into her neck, eyes heavy. Her hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, anchoring you gently to her chest.

“All mine.” she murmured. And in that quiet, sacred moment—intertwined, tangled up in love and sheets and everything you’d nearly lost—you believed her. You let yourself fall asleep in her arms. Because this time, she was staying. And so were you.

[quinbi]

When I was 10 I ended up at a new school (3rd one in 5 years, but this one was extra insular). A couple of the louder boys liked to pick on me as the new kid who had weird parents. Granted, I was a little odd (hi undiagnosed autism/adhd), but part of that odd was I'd been around animals all my life and knew basic training techniques.

One of which is you don't reward negative behaviour.

There were only two swings on the playground. I was using one and the other was empty - you were supposed to give someone else a turn after 5 minutes if they were occupied. But those loud boys turned up and wanted to go on the swings together but I had only just started so I wasn't giving mine up. After all, the other one was free. Of course they threw a fit and then started throwing garbage at me. But I could ignore the cats meowing in my face for breakfast, I wasn't giving in to such blatant bad behaviour. This would only encourage them to get worse next time. Also there was still a completely free swing which neither of them was using. If they cared that much about being on the swings they should use it and not waste recess time.

Eventually (probably about 3 or 4 minutes) they went and got a teacher and whined at her that I wasn't sharing. There was still a completely free swing next to me. But remember, weird new kid so of course I got in trouble and they got rewarded for being assholes. And they persisted in being even worse bullies to me the rest of the year.

Because dear teacher on yard watch: You don't reward negative behaviour if you want to stop that behaviour, no matter how annoying it is. But somehow my argument on the merits of animal training and behaviour extinction did not endear me to her.

Tl;dr - 10 year old me attempted to train behaviour extinction on school bullies but was foiled by a teacher. I was still in the right.

sickens me to my stomach. how dare this guy get to live my dream.

[cherie-doll]

I really really really liked the they are jealous headcanons and I neeeeed a part 2 pleeeease

Maybe with already being in a relationship with them and we are at a fancier party when a random man approaches us and tries to get our number. HOW SID HE NOT KNOW THAT WE ALREADY HAVE A MAN??? What a dumbass.

Anyways so this is what I came up with, I hope it is enough to help u get ✨creative✨

Happy new yearrr

literallllyyy (another request from the bottom of my inbox ToT so sorry ˊᯅˋ )

i didn't proofread it's 3am i just want to sleep

part 1

=͟͟͞♡ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

ଓ Price was already in a grumpy mood. He wasn't a huge fan of being out so late, especially since he had returned from mission not too long ago and had been looking forward to some rest. Unfortunately, he had been dragged into this. He had planned on staying near you the entire time so whenever he felt like he's had enough; you two could just walk out hand in hand. Simple plan. What was not planned... was him losing sight of you. He had turned to grab another drink, momentarily letting go of you. Only a second and when he turned back to face you, you were no longer by his side. Maybe you had to use the restroom or something. Until he felt an urge to find you, he didn't like not knowing where you were. He wasn't none too happy to find another fellow trying to pull you away, but he didn't feel like dealing with anyone so he just took you back. Grabbed your hand and walked off. Simple plan, remember?

ଓ Simon might seem amused at first. Asking if you were enjoying the attention you were receiving, hinting at the man who had tried hitting on you. But truth was, he nearly saw red when you had politely smiled at the man who had approached you. Simon wondered, if you had smiled because you found the poor attempt at flirting hilarious. He would cross his arms, standing directly behind this man who has no idea. Until he turns around and is met with the tall and intimidating wall that Simon is. The man nearly jumps out of his own skin. After that, Simon doesn't say much, not even to you or anyone. But he does keep an eye on the other guests there, just in case. Don't get him wrong though! He isn't mad at you, just a little irritated that someone would even try.

ଓ Johnny gets sooo visibly upset. Like this man frowns and crosses his arms as if he were a little kid and refuses to talk to anyone. You're stifling your laugh, trying not to worsen his mood but it really is funny watching him sulk. "Come on, it's just some guy I don't even know, I'm not going to take him seriously!" You tell him. Just some guy? Oh honey, don't even get him started! He was completely disregarded, there was no way that random man hadn't seen Johnny sitting there before, and that's what he's mad about. He's got a much friendly disposition and outward appearance, of course he wouldn't be taken as seriously unless he had gotten physical. Just thinking about it makes you want to laugh all over again but you simply bite your lip and look down. Johnny doesn't like that you're laughing because he doesn't find it funny, at all. But what else could he have done? You turned the guy down all by yourself.

ଓ Kyle will ignore the bastard as best as he can; sending a clear message. He'll keep an arm on you for the rest of the night there, and if you say something about it he'll be like "Yeah, and?". Every time your gaze drifts to the sad looking fellow, Kyle will use his hand to tilt your head away from looking that way. His face is right there, don't bother looking over there, yeah? He doesn't want to concern himself with what other people may try tonight, and you shouldn't either. You can try and get him to talk about it later on, maybe when you've made it home but he won't want to bring it up. You never took him for the type to get jealous but maybe it had been a new side you had seen tonight. He ends up forgetting pretty quickly and is content to be at home with you.

ଓ Roach hadn't been too excited to be around so many people, it was sort out of his comfort zone but he ended up going just for you. He had been sort of clingy throughout the evening; too much for your liking, especially being in public. At such a crowded event it was expected for him to get a little overwhelmed. It was only natural that he wanted to stay close to you. "Give me a moment", you had said. You had needed to use the restroom and then you would be back. He had insisted on following you but you firmly told him to wait instead. But he couldn't bear to see guys ogling you and be expected to sit and wait like a dog. He wasn't good at confronting others, but he had pinpointed his targets. One look at his face would keep you from pulling away once he reached you, tugging at your sleeve to leave; his signal to leave. You don't even get a chance to turn the men down as he keeps pulling.

ଓ Alejandro would never get insecure nor take it to heart if some irrelevant were trying to not only dance with you but also wanting to get your number. Alejandro's smoothly sliding up next to you, as if casually joining the conversation. Except he only listens to half of what this person has to say before he's snaking an arm around your waist. He's dropping the sweet nicknames he calls you like "cariño" to give a clear and direct message of you already being taken, in case the fool hasn't already noticed. He doesn't get physical because there doesn't seem to be reason for it, nor does he raise his voice since the man decides to show better judgement and walk away after seeing you welcoming Alejandro's embrace. Well, who wouldn't? You'd have to be crazy to not want to immediately jump into Alejandro's arms the moment he opens them for you.

ଓ Rodolfo had really been looking forward to this romantic candlelit event as a chance to formally take you out. He had envisioned a perfect night with you, because what could go wrong at a preplanned event? You two had been enjoying yourselves, standing on a balcony and enjoying the view over the city. He had left for a few minutes to grab some refreshments. You assumed no one would bother you, but it seems flies have a way of staying hidden and stuck to the wall before launching at any small entrance. You had been left alone and suddenly a couple of men were trying to coax you into joining an after party with them. The crude jokes followed right after. Rodolfo rarely gets visibly angry, but this was shameless disrespect and to you nonetheless. Of course he was going to intervene and create some space, protectively keeping you behind him.

ଓ Phillip doesn't play when it comes to you. Sometimes a Shadow will make a joke in passing about hitting on the commander's s/o and they'll get disciplined for it even if it wasn't serious. So imagine how much more possessive he'd get when a total stranger is being very obvious and insistent about his interest in you. You tell them you have someone and flash the ring at them that Phillip had bought you, of course Phillip always has you decked out in whatever jewelry you like. Still, that isn't enough to get the man off your back. And enter stage right Phillip Graves! "Everything alright, darling?". All tender and caring towards you but narrowing his eyes as a warning to the stranger who doesn't know when to give up. However, your hand resting on his arm as a gentle reminder helps him to not get too carried away.

ଓ Makarov doesn't bother with dealing with those pesky flies that try to get something out of you. You're his, of course there would be people who would try to get with you. But that was usually when it was clear those men couldn't give you what Makarov can. They're all bark but no bite, Makarov on the other hand, has given you everything you've ever wanted and more. At this fancy and exclusive party, there are only people with high status with all of them having deep pockets. Still, he doesn't let that stop him from showing you off like he usually does. Even if it means some might think you're a toy he can share. But here, he’ll show them that even with all their money and charms, you’ll still choose him over them. He’s leaving it to you to hold his arm, stay by his side, ask for his affection.

ଓ Keegan can't stay away for too long before someone is trying to get you to sit at another table or trying to play matchmaker by partnering you up with one of their single, lone friends. Normally, you'd reject their advances too, but part of you wanted to see how Keegan would react. You knew him to be protective of you even when you were only friends, but you wondered how much more intense he'd be now that you were officially a thing. So you played dumb, just a little wouldn't hurt. Keegan wasn't concerned at first, even leaned back and watched expectingly as he drank from his glass. But he nearly choked when you instead of ignoring them, you sat and listened, politely nodding as if you saw no problem. Did you not know they were blatantly flirting with you? Either way, party is over, he's taking you and going home. He didn't bring you here for someone else to take you on a date.

ଓ König wouldn't even have to confront anyone because the moment someone sees his tall frame towering over them, hovering near you like some entity.. they're gone in an instant. No one is sticking around long enough to find out what'll happen if they continue flirting with you. But little do they know, König might've not even noticed them, he's not the best at social cues or socialization in the first place. He would have just assumed you were making friends, unless he caught the way their eyes lingered on you a little too long. Or if their hands seem to have trouble staying at their sides. Then he'll cock his head, staring intensely and trying to read their true intentions. That is usually enough to get the person to feel uncomfortable and drop the act.

ଓ Horangi wouldn't like how many guys have approached you in the span of like half an hour. You look stunning, it's only natural all eyes would be on you, that's why he was so proud to stand by you. But it's like they completely disregarded him because why were people asking for your number? He's making himself known before you can even politely decline, asking "Didn't you see me? I'm their partner-" and you have to tell him to cut it out before he starts a fight with someone. No one hasn't gotten handsy with you yet, so it would be more embarrassing for a fight to break out all because he got jealous. You do have to admit, you sort of like seeing him get protective like this, it's kind hot idk.

ଓ Nikto shouldn't even be feeling this intense selfishness within him. Why does he suddenly dislike others having eyes? But he's not jealous, is he? He's being completely reasonable, those people should back away from you. You're both here to enjoy your time together as a couple, not to be interrupted by others. Why can't people understand that? He gets irritable seeing one person in particular follow you around, not taking your rejection for an answer, he supposes. But Nikto didn't come here to watch others try to court you, he's had enough and is taking you on his way out. He's seen enough, he doesn't want to go to another one of those dinner parties if it means entitled people will want to try their luck with you.

[connection-terminated-blog]

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, but I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although, you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach. But you will never find them. None of you will. This is where your story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away, as the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still, and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace, and perhaps more, waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours. And then, what became of you? I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest - for you, and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us. End communication.

I think that if a dragon were to rot it would be like a whale fall. The event is so rare that is teems with opportunist scavengers and creates a boom in the ecosystem. The flesh is uniquely rich and saturated with raw magic that will imbue the next few generations of vultures with sharper talons and bile twice as acidic. That magical energy disperses through the food web to grant small gifts to billions of different creatures. Insects are the first to find the carcass and the last to pick its flesh. Then the plants and fungi take over when there are only bones. Apothecary shelves will be overflowing for months with unique flowers, fruits, and mushrooms. Some gardeners and brewers plant trees in the exposed ribcage.

Humans also play a role in this decay, naturally. Even quite rotten, dragon meat carries no diseases or parasites. There are delicacies made from the flesh at its most rotten state, though most prefer the fresher meat. The scales, bones, teeth, and claws are valuable to jewelers, armorers, and smiths of tools and weapons. If you're lucky, it'll be your local craftsmen who get their hands on them, and you might get a nice set of bone kitchen knives for a high but reasonable price. If you're unlucky, some company will step in to strip away all the valuables from this dead angel, and the 1% will enjoy some novelties they don't appreciate the significance of. They've never seen a dragon rot, or dug through its decaying flesh with thick gloves to stave off its acidic blood.

What remains of the bones will eventually be covered in earth and lush new life. It will become a garden, perhaps tended by the humans who remember it, or perhaps only by the birds and squirrels that scatter the seeds. Someday dragons might visit this place to rear their young on its bounty, and thank the dead for what they've given back.

[screamlet]

tommy playing with buck's hair if it sparks joy pls 🙏

well......... i hope this sparks joy for someone. thank you for the prompt! don't ask how playing with buck's hair got us here. established bucktommy, 1.5k, future fic (1 year from now), mention of mcd, discussions about grieving, angst city. kind of inspired by my drabble about buck and his lightning strike anniversary. from the nonsexual acts of intimacy prompt list ---

As thunder rumbles in the distance, Tommy glares out the kitchen window. That's not cool.

Evan hears it, too, and looks up and around like it's coming for him. He can't blame him for thinking that, not in the slightest.

"See what I mean?" Evan asks. "Weather was fine yesterday, weather will be fine tomorrow, but tonight it has to rain, there has to be a storm."

Tommy leaves the vegetables he's chopping and pulls Evan into his arms, kisses his hair. "It'll be okay. We've got a plan."

There's a flash outside the window and then the lights go out.

"Fuck," Tommy mutters, holding Evan closer.

They had taken today and tomorrow off for the anniversary of Evan being struck by lightning/literally dying for 3 minutes and 17 seconds before slipping into a days-long coma that almost killed him (again). The plan had been to spend the day working on a really elaborate several-course dinner, enjoying all that work, and then watching the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy (extended edition) until Evan fell asleep.

Now there was a storm overhead and that plan was fucked. It was raining hard, huge sheets of rain beating steadily against Tommy's house. Evan had kept it together until Tommy rested a hand on the nape of his neck; that got him to give up the ghost and walk into his arms, letting himself be held.

"You don't have one of those big generators that powers an entire house, do you?" Evan asks.

"No, I'm not that much of a doomsday prepper, though maybe I should be."

Evan rubs his cheek against Tommy's chest. "Maybe you should be."

Tommy didn't have a generator, but he did have a huge camping lantern that lit up the living room in an admittedly spooky blue-toned light. Something else to look into: less creepy lightbulbs for his emergency lantern.

"At least we have charcuterie," Evan mumbles, his crackers and cheese and meats untouched on his plate. "And cheesecake."

"That's a pretty decadent meal," Tommy replies. "Nothing says hell yeah I'm alive like charcuterie and cheesecake."

Evan nods as he reclines against Tommy's chest. "Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you…"

"What it was like to die." Evan looks up. "Have you ever died?"

"Haven't had the pleasure," Tommy says. "Do you want to tell me?" Tommy kisses the top of his head, then rests his hand in Evan's hair. "Do you remember what happened?"

Evan wraps his arms around Tommy's waist. He relaxes a little as Tommy touches his curls, relaxes even more as Tommy runs his nails along his scalp. He can feel Evan relaxing bit-by-bit with every stroke of Tommy's fingers through his hair, the gentle touch along his shaved sides. His fingers trace not his ear, but behind his ear, the curve of his neck, his jaw, a long road trip that tickles at the edge of his jaw. Evan loves to be kissed there, but Tommy running his thumb along that spot, the bolt of his jaw, gets him to laugh and squirm. Tommy remembers that as his hand goes back into Evan's hair and starts again: nails along his scalp, gentle tugs on his curls to show Evan that he's here, not alone.

"I remember too much," Evan says slowly. "I remember climbing in the rain, how hard it was raining. I remember this stillness, this pocket in the middle of all that rain. I remember this weird sound, like—tension, electric, all at once. I think I knew it was going to happen before it happened."

"And then…"

"And then everything went white. I felt the shock and it hurt, it hurt, and then… then it was over. Like shutting off the lights."

Tommy rests his hand on Evan's head and kisses the top again, rests his cheek there. His heart hurts. It aches to hear the story, but it aches more at Evan's voice, the fear still in it. It's been two, three years? It sounds like the memory's burned in there.

"I had a dream and Bobby was in it, but he was dead."

Tommy stops. Soon it'll be a year since Bobby died; he didn't know Evan had already dreamed it, or something like it.

"Did you know Bobby was an alcoholic? Other stuff, too? Before he came to LA."

"I knew he was sober," Tommy says. "I didn't ask about the rest."

Evan nods. "Hen and I, he relapsed when I was a probie, and we got him help. We helped him. He was in my dream, though, kind of my guide I guess. He was—if I didn't—if I hadn't been at the 118, he would have died, is how my dream went. He needed me like I needed him."

Tommy's hand opens, making the same trip along the side of Evan's hair, down his jaw and neck, his hand resting on Evan's chest. Evan takes his hand and clutches it to himself as he leans more against Tommy.

"I don't know what to do with that," Evan says quietly. "I know it's just a dream, it's just in my head, it never happened—I never told Bobby about this, not ever. But I guess I think it's true. He wouldn't have lived if he didn't have me to be a menace, to look after, to guide, and now—now I don't have him. I don't know what I'm supposed to do today now that he's not here."

"What did you used to do? When he was here. You told me you went over to Maddie and Howie's, but what about last year when—"

When I wasn't here.

"We had found Maddie after she was kidnapped," Evan says. "And I had just moved all my stuff into my new place, and then—then I saw you again."

Tommy clutches Evan's chest a little. "That all happened around the same time? Maddie's kidnapping, your anniversary, you and me hooking up?" Evan nods against him. "Shit. Maybe next year we just skip the month of March."

Evan laughs and lets go of Tommy's hand, so Tommy rests it in his hair again. "It's tough. But I went to Maddie's anyway, crashed in the spare room. They needed the help with Jee while Maddie was recovering, so I—I had different things to be sick about."

Tommy wraps him up and kisses his birthmark. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you last year, not the way you needed it."

"It's okay," Evan says softly. "We made it back to each other."

"We did." Tommy kisses him again. "How are you feeling? What else do you want to get off your chest?"

Evan's quiet again, this time for a while, before he curls up against Tommy's chest again. "I went to church a couple of times after Bobby died. To his church. Went to Mass by myself, just me."

Tommy nods. "How'd it make you feel? Is that something you want to do again?"

"It was quiet and cold, I don't know why they blast the air conditioner like that," Evan says. "I remembered in my coma dream Bobby had his rosary and was praying for me and I wondered if that would help me. I don't know the prayers but I know there's 10 in each set, so I counted off on my knuckles. 10 things I miss about Bobby. 10 things I wish I'd said to Bobby. 10 things I wish he'd told me. 10 things I wish we could still do together. 10 things I wish he'd do for me."

Tommy doesn't realize he's crying until a tear drips onto the hand in Evan's hair. He rubs his cheeks dry and rests his hand in Evan's hair again. "Did you have answers for all of those?"

"Not all of them, but I stayed for a long time counting them off." Evan sounds congested, so he sniffles hard. "You know, this is the least miserable today's ever been. Seriously."

"Because you're not watching The Lord of the Rings tonight?"

Evan laughs. He sits up, but keeps himself pressed to Tommy's side. "I finally—you make me feel—I—"

Their eyes meet, darker blue to lighter blue in this dark and blue-lit room, this pocket of the storm.

"I'm glad I have someone. I'm glad I have you. I love you." Evan's eyes go watery as his lip trembles. "I'm so glad I have you. I'm so glad I didn't die, Tommy. I'm so glad I found you."

And Tommy had never been hit by lightning, but he didn't have to be to understand Evan: a man standing on the thinnest edge of the loneliest cliff, hoping something would pull him back.

"I love you," Tommy whispers, kissing his mouth, his hand in Evan's hair. "I'm so glad I found you."

[cup1drul3z]

That's MY girl | CH 1

4.1ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴄᴇᴏ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW : Age gap if you squint, PLUS SIZED READER, power kink, cheating, modern au, new york, assistant reader, readers a little awkward but we love her anyway, sugar mommy, SMUT, fingering, cunninglings, strap, bondage, lingerie

A/N : WE NEED SOME CHEESY OFFICE ROMANCE TO MAKE UP FOR MY STALKER FIC

Your face is pressed into the old mattress as your boyfriend's hips move against yours. He's loud, almost like a panting dog.

 Your eyebrows knit together as his rhythm falters and he releases a final groan. Although you can't see him in the doggy style position, you can imagine the selfish look on his face just from the sound of his moan.

He exhales and pulls away, collapsing beside you on the bed without another word.

You sit up slowly, knees sinking into the mattress as you reach for your T-shirt. It clings when you pull it over your head, catching slightly on your curls before you tug it down.

“Did you finish?” he asks lazily, eyes flicking toward you as he unlocks his phone.

You hesitate. Then lie. “Yeah.” Your hands rest in your lap, fingers fidgeting with the hem.

He doesn’t notice your pause—or doesn’t care. He’s already smirking at whatever’s on his screen. “Cool. You making breakfast?”

You blink. “No. I have my first day at the office today, remember?” You try to laugh, but it comes out tight. Forced. Your acrylics tap quietly against each other as you shift on the edge of the bed.

“I’ve been talking about it all week.”

He shrugs, still scrolling. “Right. Well... Can I get some cash to order food or something?”

You stare at him. He finally looks at you, like maybe he hears the silence this time. Your expression softens despite yourself. “Yeah, of course.”

You grab your wallet from the nightstand. There’s a single bill left. A crumpled twenty. You hand it to him.

He takes it, frowns. “That’s it?”

You sigh. “It would help if you got a job.”

He flops back onto the pillow, dramatically. “Babe, you know I’ve been in a dark place ever since my—uh—best friend’s uncle died.”

The way he says it makes your jaw clench. You just nod and start getting dressed. Your underwear, your skirt. You’re halfway into your blouse when you slip into the bathroom and shut the door.

Click.

The quiet hits different in here.

You lean back against the wood, heartbeat loud in your ears. The mirror greets you with tired eyes. You squeeze toothpaste from a nearly flat tube, brushing your teeth like it’ll erase the weight on your chest.

Your reflection doesn’t lie.

You’re not sure why you’re still with him. Loneliness? Guilt? Some warped loyalty to the guy he used to be?

You try not to cry. Not today.

The subway jerks, and you grab the cold pole for balance, the metal biting into your palm. Your skirt is too tight—it was from that business convention freshman year. Back when it fit without threatening to split at the seams. Now it hugs your hips, your thighs, your soft belly.

Your white blouse pulls at the buttons across your chest. If you raise your arms too high, your stomach peeks out.

You decide right then and there—first paycheck? New wardrobe.

The train hisses to a stop. You step out into the crowd, nerves buzzing under your skin. You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and check your watch.

You smile.

For once in your life… you’re not late.

The towering glass building stretches up so high, your neck aches just looking at it. The reflection of the morning sun bounces off the windows, making you squint as you approach the doors. A security guard nods at you when you walk in, and you give a half-smile, unsure if it’s confidence or pure survival mode carrying you forward.

The lobby is… massive. Polished floors that make your heels click louder than they should, a chandelier that probably costs more than your student loans, and people dressed like they were born knowing what power tastes like.

You swallow.

The front desk receptionist greets you with a polite, practiced smile. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Um—yeah. My name’s Y/N. I’m starting today? I’m the new assistant.”

She types something quickly, eyes skimming the screen. Her expression doesn’t change, but something flickers behind her eyes. “You’re with the executive suite. Take the elevator to the top floor. Ms. Sevika will be expecting you.”

You blink. “Wait—who?”

But the receptionist is already back to typing.

You hesitate, then move toward the elevators. Your heart pounds harder with every step. Executive suite? No one told you you’d be assisting the Sevika—CEO of the entire company. You’d assumed you’d be fetching coffee for a mid-level manager, not breathing the same air as corporate royalty.

The elevator dings. You step in alone, pressing the button marked PH. The doors close with a soft hush, and you're surrounded by your own reflection in the brushed metal walls. You tug at your skirt. Your blouse. Try to adjust the one button that keeps threatening betrayal.

You lick your lips and whisper, “It’s fine. Just pretend like you belong.”

The elevator glides up like a spaceship. Floor after floor lights up until it stops with a subtle chime.

The doors open to a minimalist hallway. Sleek. Cold. Expensive.

A woman waits at the end—tall, muscular, suit tailored to perfection, sleeves rolled up to reveal an intricate tattoo on her forearm. She doesn’t smile.

You recognize her instantly.

Sevika.

The woman who once made a board member cry just by looking at him too long.

You freeze.

Her eyes sweep over you. They linger on your blouse. The way it pulls. The way you tug at it. Then, they meet yours—sharp, unreadable.

“You’re late,” she says, voice like gravel dipped in smoke.

You check your watch instinctively. You’re not. You’re actually five minutes early.

“I—I don’t think I am,” you mumble.

She raises a brow. “You’re late to impress me.”

You open your mouth, then close it again.

Your heels click against the marble as you follow Sevika down the hallway, the silence between you almost louder than your thoughts. Her stride is confident—long legs, squared shoulders, every step calculated like she owns the floor. Which… she does.

You keep your head up, even though you're very aware of how your skirt keeps riding up the back of your thighs, or how the blouse tightens when you breathe too deep. Your fingers brush the buttons subtly, pretending like you're just smoothing it down.

She stops in front of a sleek, L-shaped desk just outside a massive frosted-glass office.

“This is yours,” Sevika says without turning. “Don’t clutter it. I don’t like mess.”

You nod quickly, eyes scanning the clean workspace. One computer. A landline. A little stack of post-its that are somehow intimidating.

“I thought I’d be working more behind-the-scenes,” you say, unsure why you're even speaking.

She finally looks at you. Her gaze is intense—like she’s stripping every excuse out of your mouth before you even say it.

“You’ll be doing secretary work too,” she says. “Call screening. Scheduling. Gatekeeping. I don’t have time for idiots, and I don’t like repeating myself.”

You swallow hard and nod. “Got it.”

“People will try to kiss your ass to get to me,” she adds, stepping closer. She’s tall. Broader than you expected. You can smell her cologne—sharp, clean, expensive.

“You don’t let them.”

“I won’t,” you say quickly.

Her eyes narrow like she’s testing for lies.

Then: “Good.” She turns and gestures toward the glass office. “You’ll only come in when I call you. If the door’s closed, don’t knock.”

You nod again, clutching your bag like it’s a lifeline. Your thighs stick slightly to the leather chair as you sit down, nerves prickling down your spine.

She’s halfway into her office when she stops and glances back.

“You should get a new outfit,” she says flatly, like she’s commenting on the weather. “It’s distracting.”

And then the door shuts.

You stare at it for a long time.

Your first paycheck can't come soon enough.

You had barely started organizing your login info when Sevika’s office door whipped open.

“Come with me.”

No explanation. No warning.

Your chair wheels back with a squeak as you jump to your feet, grabbing your phone and notebook like a deer in headlights. She doesn’t wait. She’s already striding down the hallway, and you have to jog just to keep up.

“I-Is this for notes or—?”

“Don’t talk. Just move.”

You do.

She leads you into a large conference room filled with polished suits and cologne strong enough to burn through your skull. The table is massive. Glass-topped. People glance up from their phones when she walks in, posture straightening like a general just walked into battle.

She stops at the head of the table and drops into the seat like it’s a throne. You awkwardly hover behind her, unsure where to go.

A man in a navy pinstripe suit—mid-forties, fake smile, bad tan—slides his chair back and gestures to the empty seat beside him. “Hey there, sweetheart. This one’s free.”

You give a nervous smile, hesitating before moving toward it.

The moment you pass behind him, you feel it.

A hand.

On your ass.

Not a brush. A full, possessive grab.

Everything inside you snaps.

You don’t think. You react.

You spin, fist flying before your brain can catch up. Knuckles crash into cartilage with a sickening crunch, and the man yells out, stumbling back, hands over his face. Blood pours through his fingers, staining his cuffs red.

The entire room falls into stunned silence.

Chairs shift. A woman gasps. Someone mutters “Holy shit.”

You blink, chest heaving, adrenaline flooding your veins. Your hand trembles as you realize what you just did.

Then you hear it.

A calm, uninterested voice.

“Clean up the blood,” Sevika says, not even looking up from the folder in front of her. She flicks a page. “And you’re fired.”

The man stares at her in disbelief, nose still gushing.

“You heard me,” she says, glancing up now with a look of pure disgust. “Security will escort you out once you wipe that mess off my floors.”

He looks around like someone else might defend him. No one does.

He stumbles out, still holding his face, muttering something under his breath.

Sevika doesn’t blink. “Sit down,” she tells you, and this time, her voice is lower. Controlled. Almost… protective.

You do, still clutching your notebook, your hand throbbing.

The rest of the meeting carries on like nothing happened.

But you catch it. The way she leans back in her chair, just slightly turned toward you.

Watching.

And maybe—just maybe—you see the corner of her mouth twitch.

A smirk.

The meeting finally ends. You have no idea what was said during the second half—your ears were still ringing from the punch, and your hand throbbed like it had its own pulse.

You shuffle behind Sevika as she exits, expecting her to say something. Anything.

She doesn’t.

Just strides off down the hall, giving you the same attention someone might give a plant in the corner.

You’re still half-frozen in the hallway when someone taps your shoulder.

You turn and come face-to-face with a woman in a sharp red blazer and impossibly smooth hair. She's tall, elegant, and way too beautiful to be talking to someone whose blouse is one sneeze away from betrayal.

“Hey,” she says, smiling. “That punch? Legendary.”

You blink. “Oh. Uh… thanks?”

“I’m Mel. PR and damage control. Mostly for her.” She nods in Sevika’s direction and winks. “You did good.”

A voice chimes in beside her. “You clocked that creep.” It’s a girl with bright blue hair, two braids hanging over her shoulders, chewing gum like it wronged her. She points at you with admiration. “I’m Jinx. Marketing. You’re cool. Wanna get a drink?”

You blink again. “Like… alcohol?”

“Unless you’d prefer to slam a Capri-Sun in the corner,” a guy adds, stepping up beside them. His dreads are tied back in a bandana, and he’s got a casual smile and kind eyes. “Ekko. I run one of the tech teams. We all go out after major meetings—tradition.”

You feel your shoulders tighten. You glance down at your outfit. At your cracked phone case. Your acrylics already starting to chip.

“I… don’t really have money for drinks right now,” you admit quietly, embarrassed. “I kinda used my last $20 this morning.”

There’s a brief pause.

Then Mel laughs, but not in a mean way. “Oh, sweetheart. When you work under Sevika, drinks are almost always on the house.”

“Yeah,” Jinx grins, bouncing a little on her toes. “Every bar in the city wants her favor. Her assistants get treated like royalty.”

Ekko nods. “You’re basically walking PR. You just don’t know it yet.”

You blink. Again.

“Oh,” you murmur. “I didn’t… know that.”

“Well,” Mel says, linking her arm through yours before you can protest, “you do now.”

“Let’s go,” Jinx sings, already heading for the elevators like she owns them.

The bar is loud and golden-lit, buzzing with post-work energy and cheap music that somehow makes everything feel cinematic. It smells like lemon cleaner and old whiskey, and the second you step in with the others, someone’s already waving.

“Hey, hey! Sevika’s crew!” the bartender grins. “First round’s on us.”

You're still trying to process the fact that you have a crew.

By the time you sit, your cheeks are warm—not just from the drink Jinx shoved into your hand, but from the laughter bubbling up around you. Mel’s telling some story about a senator who cried in Sevika’s office. Ekko keeps interrupting with sound effects. Jinx throws peanuts at both of them and tells you she’s building a sculpture of a “badass mermaid that looks kind of like you but with fangs and a rocket launcher.”

You’re laughing. Real laughing. The kind that makes your stomach ache.

And then the door opens.

It doesn’t slam or swing dramatically. Just a ding of the bell and a subtle shift in energy.

Sevika walks in.

She’s missing her blazer.

Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, shirt collar slightly undone—just enough to show the dip of her collarbone, a hint of ink peeking out. Her hair is tied back in a low bun, loose strands brushing her jaw. She looks casual—but not in a relaxed way.

In a stripped-down kind of way. Like something got peeled off on the way here, and it wasn’t just her jacket.

The table goes quiet for half a beat, then:

“Sevika!” Jinx grins, waving dramatically with both arms like a puppy who just spotted its favorite toy. “Come drink!”

Sevika nods once, barely looking at the group. She walks past you, sits on the stool at the far end of the bar, orders something dark, and downs half of it before it hits the napkin.

Everyone else is too hyped up to notice.

But you do.

You watch the way her shoulders are slightly hunched, one leg bouncing under the counter. How her jaw stays clenched even when someone laughs too loudly. Her fingers twitch near her drink, like she's this close to lighting a cigarette but holding back.

Something’s wrong.

You sip your drink, pretending not to stare, but you can’t shake the way it hits you. That weird, sinking feeling in your chest like… like you’ve seen someone crack right before they break.

You glance back at your coworkers. They’re mid-roast, arguing over which of them would die first in a zombie apocalypse.

They don’t notice her.

But you do.

It gets blurry fast.

The drinks keep coming—on the house, on someone’s tab, on Jinx's “I swear I know the bartender” energy. At some point, Mel starts doing shots off her hand, and Ekko convinces you to dance even though you swore you weren’t going to.

Even Sevika’s laughing now.

Not loudly. But real.

You see it when Jinx tells a joke so terrible it circles back around to being funny. Sevika leans back in her seat, arm draped casually over the back of the booth, her smile tilted and lazy, her eyes half-lidded from the alcohol. She looks less like your terrifying boss and more like a woman who used to be terrifying and is just too tired to keep up the act tonight.

She’s still in her collared shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, two—no, three—buttons undone. You try not to stare at the curve of her throat. The way her wrist flexes when she raises her glass. The way her gaze keeps flicking your way when she thinks you’re not looking.

It’s probably just the liquor. You’re imagining things. It’s fine.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom.

The hallway’s cooler, quieter. Your reflection in the cracked mirror looks a little flushed, lips glossy, eyeliner smudged in a way that actually kinda works. You’re just fixing your hair when the door creaks open behind you.

You glance up.

Sevika’s leaning in the doorway.

Her jacket’s still gone. The top buttons of her shirt hang even looser now, and her eyes are darker than they were five minutes ago.

She doesn’t speak at first.

Just walks forward. Slow. Heavy boots on cheap tile.

“You got a good right hook,” she says, voice lower now—more gravel than smoke. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You swallow. “He grabbed me.”

“I know.” She’s closer now. Her reflection in the mirror stares right through you.

“Are you—” you begin, but she cuts you off.

“You always stare at me like that?”

You freeze. “Like what?”

She doesn’t answer.

Instead, she steps behind you, close enough that your back almost brushes her front. The air between you is thick with whiskey and tension and something unspoken that’s been simmering since you walked into her office in that too-tight skirt.

Her fingers ghost the hem of your blouse, barely touching, like testing if you’ll flinch. You don’t.

“You think I didn’t notice?” she murmurs, voice like silk over a blade. “How you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention?”

Your breath catches.

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” she says, eyes locked on yours in the mirror. “But you did.”

She brushes your hair aside, slow, knuckles grazing your throat. Her breath is hot against your neck. “I should walk away right now,” she says.

“Then why haven’t you?”

She grins.

And the lock clicks behind you.

Her fingers trail down your arm like they’ve done it a hundred times. Like they own the path.

“You know what happens if you keep looking at me like that?” she murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “People start thinking you want something.”

Your voice is barely there. “Maybe I do.”

Sevika chuckles, low and dangerous. “Then you’re worse than I thought.”

Her hands slide over your hips, slow and firm, pulling your back to her chest. Your breath catches when her palms press against your stomach, holding you there—completely in place. She leans down, her lips grazing your neck, open-mouthed and warm. Not biting. Yet.

“Who did you wear this for?” she murmurs against your skin. “Did you want someone to notice you?”

You nod. Or try to.

Her fingers trail up, unbuttoning the blouse that was already fighting to hold itself together. One button. Two. “Say it.”

You bite your lip. Then whisper, “I wanted someone to notice me.”

Sevika lets out a breath—like she’s been holding it in since the moment she saw you.

And then you’re spun around, back pressing into the cool bathroom wall. Her mouth crashes into yours—rough, consuming, like she’s been starving and you’re the first real thing she’s tasted in weeks.

Your fingers tangle in her shirt, nails scraping the exposed skin of her chest. She groans into your mouth, hands already sliding beneath your skirt, gripping your thighs with the kind of force that makes your knees go weak.

“Sevika-” you whimper “were drunk, we shouldn't-” you try to say “then stop me” she pulls away to look you in the eye 

A part of you should, but another part wanted to let her ruin your life, so you didnt stop her. She smirks at that and hoists you up, your legs wrap around her waist and she brings you to the sink, setting you down on it.

Sevika doesnt wait for you to get your tights off, she rips them open at the crotch. “Seriously? Im stuck in these till my next pay check” your brows furrow and she rolls her eyes “is that a pathetic excuse for me to buy you clothes?” she asks kissing your jaw 

“Wha- no! I would never ask my new boss for something like that-” you voice is laced with worry as she just kisses you passionately, in a way no guy or girl has ever kissed you. Your eyes automatically close and cup her cheek

She forces her tounge in your mouth which you quickly give in and just do whatever she wants, Sevikas hand finds itself between your thighs, rubbing at your damp panties

You gasp and grip her shoulder. “Never been touched before?” she teases and instead of coming up with your own comeback you just shake your head. “No- i-” you try to finish your sentence but sevika has moved your panties out of the way and began rubbing circles into your clit

Your breath hitches and cuts you off. You let out a shaky breath as she smirks “go on, your not a virgin?” she whispers into your ear, nibbling your earlobe

You shake your head with a whimper “no- im not” you say finally and she just chuckles “thats a shame” is all she says before she enters a digit into you cunt with with a squelch

“Fuck- your so wet” Sevika leans down and bites your shoulder

Your moan is muffled against her collarbone as your hand fists the edge of the sink behind you for balance. Each thrust has your back arching, her other hand gripping your ass like she owns it. Like she plans to.

You claw at her shirt, rolling your hips into her finger. “Oh fuck-” you mutter squeazing your eyes shut and hiding your face in her shoulder

She inserts another finger and pumps them in and out of you. Your breath picks up, and your grip on her sleeve tightened 

You lean your head back and she takes this as an invitation to mark your neck. Biting and leaving hickeys. You whimper, not thinking about the consequences 

“You gonna cum baby?” she speeds up her pace while you bite your bottom lip “yesyesyes” you babble. “Be a good girl, cum on my fingers”

And you do.

Hard.

Your whole body trembles as it crashes over you, the heat, the pressure, the ache all bursting into something electric and consuming. Sevika groans, burying her face in your neck as your walls pulse around her fingers.

She holds you there, keeps you upright as your legs go soft, presses a slow kiss to your jaw before pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes.

Your breath is still ragged, your body trembling as Sevika pulls her hand back, slowly, her fingers glistening with you. She looks at you like you’re something she won—dark eyes steady, jaw set, lips still parted from the kiss.

But your mind starts catching up.

The haze clears just enough to remind you.

Him.

Your boyfriend. Your apartment. The shared toothbrush. The sadness you’ve been sleeping next to for months, wrapped in excuses and old memories.

Your chest tightens like a vice.

“I—” you breathe, voice hoarse. You push her gently, enough to create space between your bodies. She furrows her brows, confused, but doesn’t stop you as you fix your blouse with shaking fingers.

You can't even look her in the eye.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you mumble. Your voice is quiet, but the guilt in it feels loud.

Sevika doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches you, her expression unreadable now. The moment she’d just owned is slipping through her fingers.

“Hey,” she says low, like she might reel you back in. “It’s not like you didn’t want—”

“I have someone,” you cut in, backing toward the door, shame rising like bile. “I have a boyfriend. I shouldn’t have—”

The lock clicks open beneath your fingers.

“You sure took your time,” Jinx giggles from the hallway, but her voice sounds like it's underwater. You give her a broken smile, ducking your head and slipping past before anyone can look too closely.

You don’t stop at the table. Don’t say goodbye.

You leave the bar like the whole thing's on fire.

And behind you, Sevika stays in the bathroom, jaw tense, still smelling you on her fingers.

She doesn’t chase you.

She just stares at the door for a long, long time.

comment to be added to the taglist! PART 2

[yrenesbrainrotss]

A/N: YOU GUYS FINALLY ITS HEREEEE!!! I was literally grinding all night to write this and i had to wake up in the morning and slept only 3 HOURS bc i got a horrible throat irritation AND THE WHOLE WAY, TO AND BACK FROM THE TRIP WITH MY MOM I WROTE THIS. I THINK IT TOOK ME LIKE 9 HOURS TO WRITE BUT ITS WORTH ITTTTTT!!!!!

Im literally rubbing my hands like and evil fly rn even tho i got a cold too😔

ENJOY FREAKS, IT’S REALLY FUCKING LONG TOO.💘

•summary: part two of hungover!Ena x reader

•warnings: straight up nsfw from the start,mentions of war and all that.

•reader pronouns: FEMAAAALLEEE!!!

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You don’t know how long you’ve been lying there, your eyes heavy and your thoughts looping like a film reel stuck on the same frame. Ena’s breath is warm against your neck now, her fingers gently curled against your stomach. You can feel the slight tremble in them, like even in sleep, she’s unsure if she’s allowed to be here.

You turn slowly, barely shifting the blanket between you, and her hand follows like it knows you. She’s awake. You can tell by the way her breathing skips, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

“Are you cold?” you whisper, and it’s the softest thing you’ve said in weeks.

She shakes her head, just the faintest movement, then opens her eyes. They’re glassy in the dim light ,wide and scared, eye bags visible and a ever present tiredness,like something in her is breaking open and she’s letting you see the cracks.

“I didn’t mean to… take your bed,” she murmurs. “I just—felt safe here.”

Your chest tightens.

“It’s okay,” you say, brushing a stray raven lock of hair away from her pale cheek. “I didn’t mind.”

You stare at each other, neither saying anything, the sound of both of your heartbeats intertwining, filling a small portion of the silent dorm room.

Then she reaches up, tentative, and touches your face. Her knuckles graze your cheekbone, then stay there, like she’s trying to memorize you through touch.

“I don’t know how I ended up here..” she asks, her voice barely a shaky whisper.“I don’t know what place I stumbled upon..”

You don’t have an answer,you linger onto her pale chapped lips,tracing their heart shaped outline and lift your hand allowing the tip of your index finger to touch her lower lip, slowly drawing it down from the center, slightly exposing her white sharp teeth. Her warm exhales hit your cold fingers and without a second moment wasted away on pondering you lean in.

Halfway though, you get a sudden flash of realization but you aren’t able to acknowledge it properly because Ena’s already pressed her just as cold lips to yours. It only lasts a second, and when you part she brushes her mouth against yours with a teasing gentleness, only to connect them either yours again, more forcefully—desperately.

She rests her left palm on your cheek bringing you closer,and you grip the red straps on her chest, just as desperate as her— if not more than. Her teeth catch you lips in a painful but pleasurable bite, and you gasp quietly,she sees this moment as an opportunity to slip her hot tongue under your upper lip, just barely caressing it, then hungrily explores your inexperienced cavern.

Your brain is fuzzy and your whole body is tingling with a feeling long forgotten.How much time passed since you did something like this? You didn’t know, or care at this point. You wanted her bad and you didn’t even know her— that’s precisely what made it more enticing.

In this heated moment she suddenly stops as if she remembered something,you lift your body weight with your elbows and she lightly pushed you back with her palm against your chest. She sits in the old creaky bed kneeling,pondering and before you can ask her what’s wrong she speaks:” I don’t even know your name..”

With a raspy voice you whisper it to her but she catches it and mumbles it like a mantra until she kisses you again, pushing you back down on the bed,lifting her leg and swinging it between your thighs, straddling you. You switch places, lifting her by the curve of her hips,and letting her back bounce on the mattress,her head hitting the white pillows you previously rested on.

You curl the corners of your mouth mischievously and grip the edge of your T-shirt, lifting it up slowly in a alluring way, revealing bit by bit more and more skin until you just yanked it over your head, throwing it somewhere in the darkness. Ena supports her body weight on her forearms, savouring every inch of you body, she reaches out caressing your skin from your hips to your chest, gripping the soft plush there.

You gasp and like a feline close the distance between you once again,tucking a strand of your messy hair aside. You slide her red straps off of her shoulders and, still in a feverish kiss, you unbutton her short sleeve shirt, sliding it off of her pale body and thin arms. “You’re so pale.. perfect for leaving markings…” She flushes pink, and you pinch her warm cheeks.

Then in a sudden motion your mouth finds itself a home on the underside of her jaw, biting softly, kissing and licking slow cat-like stripes until your lips reach her chest, lingering longer. Your right hand caresses her thighs, sinking your nails into the softness of her bum, eventually reaching the zipper in front of her green shorts. Ena relishes in the way you touch every part of her body gasping and arching into your working mouth that is also muttering small words of praise and encouragement .

You lips distance themselves from the brunette’s body, and you straighten yourself, admiring the love bites left behind and hurriedly unzip her shorts slipping them off and before you reach for the knee socks you decide against it, loving the way they sunk into her flesh. You set your hands on her lower abdomen , tapping your fingers against her skin impatiently and locked eyes with her for consent.

She nods and you don’t wait another minute. Peeling the last black lacey piece of clothing, you cooed at the fluids sticking to it “God…now I’m not even going to blame you for being that impatient..” you chuckle, she covers her face with the back of her palm but you put it away, closing the distance between your bodies ardent with want, pressing your chest against hers and at the same time brushing her inner thigh, before settling on the sticky spot between them.

Ena rose her hips into your hand, instinctively as your its fingers part her with a care that borders on worship. She’s warm and slick and pulsing, her body already trembling like she’s been waiting for this longer than she’s willing to admit. Your name falls from her lips like a prayer, choked and breathless.

A raw emotion floats in the air,the steady unfolding of touching breathing and tangled legs ever present, your figures stuck like puzzle pieces.Your middle and ring fingers plunge into her core deep in a steady rythm that makes her toes curl and leaves her mouth agape, a small bead of drool forming on the corner of her mouth. You stick your tongue out to catch it and meet her awaiting,parted lips. She lets a shaky moan slip into your warm mouth when you reach the bundle of nerves with your thumb. Her fingers tangle in your silky hair and grips it—harshly.

You press your forehead to her sweaty one ,your sharp lustful eyes bore into her teary, glassy ones,enjoying in the way she bounces against the soft cushion pillows as you slid your fingers even deeper into her warm gushy walls. Ena moaning into your mouth once more is enough confirmation that she’s enjoying this,even more than you do.

Your mouth finds her collarbone, then her shoulder—biting just enough to make her brain go numb with tingling pleasure.

And you know that feeling. The aching loneliness. The long nights staring at the ceiling, aching to be touched, held, known. You’ve buried that need beneath textbooks and test scores, convinced yourself you could live without it.

But now—her fingers dig into your back, her thighs trembling around your wrist—and you remember. You remember what it feels like to be wanted.

You curl your soaked two fingers deep inside her, your thumb circling that spot that makes her cry out and cling to you. You now move fast, relentless,sending to that place between pain and pleasure she so desired to feel.

Her mouth is on your shoulder, biting down to muffle her sounds, her body breaking apart in your arms.

And when she comes,it’s as if the whole world shatters around the both of you. Her legs shake and tremble, her leaking heat contracts and sucks your fingers inside up to your knuckles, her back arching off of the mattress and you slide the hand that isn’t working between her legs under her lower back,sticking your cheek against her abdomen now covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

Her trembling form grips your back with the last drops of energy it has left, chest heaving up and down, trying to regulate her breathing.You lift your head from her abdomen and wipe her sweaty forehead with the back of your palm “Are you alright..?” you question, she just nods through heavy breaths and closed eyelids.

You don’t realize when she shifts.

One moment her trembling body is with its back set on the mattress, still coming sown from the high you’d just given her and the next,her hand is only your chest—pushing you back slowly— and her eyes half lidded,dark and unreadable.

“Lie back,” she says, voice lower now, more certain. You obey without thinking, heart hammering as your own back hits the mattress, mimicking the position she was just a few minutes ago.

Ena slides on top of you with a perverse motion,like serpent luring its prey,slithering around it before it reveals its fangs and devours it—she needs to devour you right now.

As you lay back your hands glide from her abdomen to her soft plump curves,squeezing and kneading it like dough.

Her thighs straddle your hips, her hands splayed across your chest. And for a moment, she just looks at you. Like she’s never seen something so raw, so vulnerable, so hers.

Her fingers trail down your body—over your perky nipples,ribs,stomach, the curve of your hipbone—until they reach the waistband of your underwear. She watches your face as she slides them down and off onto the floor now covered in your clothes, her gaze never wavering.

“You’re so beautiful..” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss the edge of your jaw, her breath hot. She stares into your eyes and the tip of her tongue teasingly parts your lips further “Can I have this? With you?”

You nod, unable to form words.

She moves low,leaving traces of kisses , until her mouth hovers over you—and when her tongue touches you, everything else in your mind goes quiet.

She’s gentle at first. Teasing. Her plum coloured lips wrap around you with maddening slowness, sharp teeth grazing your sensitive bundle,her warm,wet tongue flicking in soft, precise movements that make you roll your eyes in the back of your head, sending shivers down your core.Your hips twitch, but she presses a hand to your pelvis—stay still—and you try, even as your body begs to buck into her pretty face.

She hums against you, and the sound vibrates all the way up your spine. Her pace picks up—sloppy and wet gushy sounds filling up the dorm room once again —and you find yourself gasping her name, jaw falling open.

You tangle your fingers in her dark locks of hair for some kind of support,gripping it but not too harsh to hurt her. You want to feel her closer, to crawl under her ribs and make a home for yourself there,to feel her pulsing heart beating for you in this very moment.

Ena continues to send you into oblivion ,inserting her wet muscle inside you, tasting you with an unsatisfied hunger and need to just feel you— feel that your real, that this is real. You let out a high pitched moan, trapping her head in between your squishy thighs,bringing her as close as possible to your aching ,needy heat.She slurps and drinks all of you,feeling your warmth contract and gush around her pink tongue.

But then she looks up—eyes locked on yours, mouth full of you—and it unleashes whatever is left of your lustful self.

Your thighs clench, your stomach tightens, and with one more strong suck of her lips and tongue, you fall apart. You moan her name, your voice cracking, your body shaking as the world blurs at the edges—you quite literally see stars in that moment. Ena,amused, licks your dripping juices from her lips, savoring the taste and letting out a soft satisfied hum as if she never tasted something so good before.

When it’s over, she climbs up beside you and tucks herself into your side like she belongs there,listening to your heavy breaths.

She kisses your shoulder, barely a breath of contact. “Are you up for a bath? I can’t sleep all sticky like this.” she asks softly,her lips slightly curving upwards.

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

Only the sound of small stray droplets of water hitting the half-fulled tub can be heard. The steam rises from your skin, dancing in the air before it vanishes completely. Ena’s cheek smushed against your warm chest,covered in a mix of both yours and her sweat, you push aside her wet bangs sticking to her forehead and kiss the spot,she hums, her just as empty eyes peering at you from under her long lashes.

She bites the inside of her cheek before she speaks—“You know.. it’s been wonderful..you are wonderful but I have to tell you something..” Your brows raise in curiosity and now it’s your turn to open your eyes from their relaxed state and return her gaze—“what’s wrong?”.

She then tells you a few things about her past, how she has done terrible things and took part in a war long ago. You listen to the methods she used to survive,to fight on. The hunger,thirst and cold brought the soldiers to the point of insanity.You don’t recognize any of the events she talks about,something about a bland grey realm with an abandoned shipwreck and forgotten events like auction day and hourglass dogs.

You almost don’t believe her but her seriousness makes you wonder if its all real. Her current realm is more of a dusty desert now, changed, and all its residents hate her for what she’s done—you don’t ask anything further than what she lets you in on,it seems painful enough for her to remember those times.

She tells you that her actual form—the one you see her with at the moment— is not her usual one, her description of her supposed “original form” resembles a half pale polygonal side and a half red side, both with different personalities but inhabiting the same body. When she finishes,she lowers her head and stares at the droplets of water falling from the faucet.

You hug her tightly, running your fingers across her spine,not saying anything—you were at loss of words—should you trust her? “I know you might not believe me but please-“ you cut her off before she ends the sentence: “Its okay—I believe you.” and you take the chance, even if it puts you at risk.

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

Now in the warm bed again you hold her close, her presence a familiar one.

In the dark of the night you tell her that she’s the only thing tethering you to the earth—and you actually believe she is. She says that she doesn’t know what this “earth” you talk about is but you think that your previous actions might have messed with her brain so much that she doesn’t know what she talks about.

In the stillness after, her hand traces lazy shapes on your back, and your face is tucked into the curve of her neck relishing in the smell of the rose scented shampoo impregnated in her damp locks.You’re not sure when you’ll wake up, or if this is even real—but her heartbeat is steady beneath your cheek, and for now, that’s enough.

In the morning, she sunlight peeks through the curtains, slashing the room in two.It hits your closed eyelids and your nose scrunches in discomfort—you reach for her,on the other side of your bed, wanting to bury yourself in her chest. However you frown—your hand searches upwards and it reaches the end of your bed—it’s empty,cold.

You sit up in distress,your brain mushy with sleep but you acknowledge the empty space next to you. You clutch your head and sigh,as tears bubble in your eyes threatening to spill on your withe sheets—but you see a flash of green from the corner of your eyes, her green cap.

You pick it up by the front part with your pointer finger and thumb, setting it in your lap. The smell of rose invades your nostrils and you inhale the scent imbued in the material—a mixture of nostalgia embracing you. You search for your phone from underneath the pillow,tapping your code in and searching her name—nothing. Not a trace of her on the internet or any social media,not even a phone number registered anywhere or some kind of profile to prove her existence.

You open your “photos” app and scroll down until you see it— a blurry picture of you two snapped at exactly 3:30 AM. You are asleep on her chest, hand gripping her bare skin,and you know it’s her because no one has such vibrant neon purple irises and the familiar empty eyes that you would recognize anywhere.

You almost miss it but it’s there— inside of her cap you see a note. After carefully unfolding it the rose smell is present okce more and blue messy writing saying— “I’ll be back soon, my love”

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱